


Carry On

by citrusmuppet



Category: Riverdale (TV 2017)
Genre: Angst with a Happy Ending, Eventual Smut, F/F, F/M, M/M, Riverdale AU, Slow Burn, serpent Jughead, sortofdark!jughead
Language: English
Status: In-Progress
Published: 2017-06-27
Updated: 2018-08-15
Packaged: 2018-11-19 17:58:17
Rating: Mature
Warnings: Graphic Depictions Of Violence
Chapters: 18
Words: 47,254
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/11318658
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/citrusmuppet/pseuds/citrusmuppet
Summary: AU. Bughead. On July 11th, FP Jones II turned Clifford Blossom in for the murder of Jason Blossom. In November, Jughead transferred to Southside High. It would be five years before Betty Cooper saw him again. When he shows up late one night at Pop's diner, half-starved and a little worse for wear, Betty is surprised by how he's lived his life in those five years...





	1. Say You Won't Let Go

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> This story is an AU, as though FP turned Clifford Blossom in right after the murder. Clifford didn't have any warning to the arrest and therefore, went to jail. It is also set five years after Jason's death and Jughead transferred to Southside a few months into their Sophomore year, so never cemented friendships with Archie, Betty, and Veronica.

_“I met you in the dark, you lit me up. You made me feel like I was enough…”_

  
                Jughead pulls his truck into the parking lot, breath shallow as he avoids further hurting his bruised ribs. It’s almost midnight and the diner is all but empty so he parks right by the front door to keep his movements at a minimum. He trudges into Pop’s, ignoring the twinkling bell that alerts his presence and sidles into the booth at the very back, his position both so he can see the front door and to keep anyone from coming up behind him as he slouches into the cracked, red velvet seat, his leather jacket half-folded beside him.

                Sighing, he stays there, feeling content for the first time in…well, years.

                His ears twitch as a lovely laugh sounds from the kitchen before the door between the counter and the rest of the diner opens and a pretty blonde steps out in the yellow uniform that all the waitresses wear. She’s holding one plate in each hand as she heads towards the only other occupied booth and easily serves the couple, asking them if she could help them with anything else before her eyes scan the tables for her newest patron.

                When their eyes meet, he feels a jolt as he recognizes her, surprise nearly making him sit up and he grits his teeth as he forces himself to stay still. She heads his way, not really looking scared as most women would, but calmly. Like, the center of a hurricane.

                He wants to curse his luck. He’s had a crush on her since first grade and they hadn’t seen each other in five years. Of course he would meet her again after so long, and tonight of all nights, when he’s barely hanging on by a thread.

                “Jughead Jones.” She states, leaning her hip against the side of the booth, “I haven’t seen you since…”

                “Sophomore year.” He answers, unable to stop the half smirk that pulled at the corner of his mouth as he adds, “Betty Cooper.” He remembers her and she hasn’t changed much; the untouchable, perfect girl-next door. No doubt engaged by now to Archie Andrews, her neighbor and his former best friend. She’d always had eyes for the red-haired boy.

                She grins, her green eyes lighting up as she slides into the booth across from him, her eyes only briefly catching on the Serpent jacket on the seat, “Pop’s hasn’t seen you around here since then, either. You used to be a regular.” She tells him, like he doesn’t know, and her voice slides down his spine like honey, soothing the wildest part of him.

                He used to sit in the booth with his laptop, clicking away his stories on the keys as he sipped cup after cup of coffee. He felt a slight cut of nostalgia on his heart as he remembered how simple things were before…before the Jason Blossom murder. “Yeah, well. Life got in the way.” He murmurs, using his father’s words and half hating himself for doing it.

                Her head tilts, her blonde ponytail trailing down one shoulder as she studies him for a moment, “What can I get you? Besides a first aid kit?” There’s a touch of humor to her question, as though she’s trying to get a smile out of him even though she’s serious.

                His eyes move to look out the window, looking for any signs that he was followed even as his left eye continually swells, almost cutting off his vison. “Just water.” He tells her, though his stomach growls in protest. As much as he wants a burger, recalling how delicious they always were, he knows he can’t afford it. He’s got maybe forty cents rolling around in his pocket and it couldn’t even buy him a shake. Or a fry. He’s here simply because it was on the way home and the bright neon lights had enticed him to come to the last place that ever felt safe to him. “What are you now, a junior in college?” He asks, startling her as much as surprising himself because he’s never been much of a conversationalist.

                He’s not sure why, but he’s always liked Betty. When no other girl tempted him in high school, she was the one exception.

                She placed her chin on her hand, setting her pad and pen on the table and looking at him, “Yes. I’ll be graduating a year early, actually.”

                “Journalism, no doubt.” He guesses, turning to meet her steady gaze with his one good eye.

                Her brow furrows just a touch as she takes in his eye, her left hand curling like she was stopping herself from touching his eye. “No, auto mechanics. At RCC.”

                Riverdale Community College, the abbreviation takes him aback, “I thought Betty Cooper would attend a more prestigious institution.” He can’t stop the sarcasm, it’s inherent in him anymore. He doesn’t know how to be honest or open. Only knows how to keep people at a distance. It’s the best solution for the life he lives.

                Betty is different, she gives him a rueful grin as she tells him the simple truth of the events that kept her here when she deserves more, “That was the plan. Until my mother left my dad for a younger man. Took off to California. I didn’t have the heart to leave him when Polly is away at Columbia.”

                Once more, her words throw him off, “Alice left Hal?” He wasn’t attuned to the Riverdale gossip anymore, spent too much time in the Southside to pay any attention to it, but he feels like something like that would have made it even across the tracks where Alice Cooper grew up.

                She sighs, leaning back in the red velvet booth and clicking the pen on the lacquer top of the table, “I haven’t had to tell anyone the dirty scandal in a while, everyone heard about it so quickly.” He catches her green gaze fall once more to his leather jacket before she meets his eyes, “Alice Cooper left her husband with the next-door neighbor…” She pauses, letting him guess she means Fred before her mouth hisses and she completes it, “…’s son.” She grinned as she watches him follow her words, “Archie Andrews.” She adds for clarification.

                He actually sits up at the news, wincing as his ribs seem to scream at the sudden movement, “Archie and your mother.” He deadpans, inwardly appreciating the smug expression on her face as she enjoys his surprise at her gossip. “I always thought you and Red would end up together.” He realizes his words are the wrong one, a sudden sadness entering her sage eyes.

                She shrugs and stands up from the booth and he’s annoyed with himself for scaring her off, “Well, we didn’t. My mother always hated him…” She bites her lip, worrying it as she finally murmurs,

                “Perhaps it was because she was actually attracted to him.” Her nose scrunches as if the thought makes her sick before she sighs, rolling her eyes and waving her hand as though she can wave away the pain, “So, a burger, fries and a milkshake.” She reads from her tablet, though he knows there’s nothing written on it.

                “I have forty cents to my name.” He tells her, wishing his face didn’t hurt so much that he could give her his best apathetic glare.

                She’s already walking away, calling over her shoulder, “On the house.” He thinks he hears her tell Pop, “The prodigal son returns.” Causing the dark-skinned man to smile at Jughead and chuckle.

                Jughead sits there, stunned. At the catching up, the easy banter, and the blonde ghost from his Riverdale High days. He tries and fails to remember the last time someone was nice to him, someone other than a Serpent who wanted something from him. In a matter of minutes, Jughead wishes he’d went to college, did something else with his life other than join a gang, anything that would impress the one girl that always caught his eye. But, it’s too late for what-ifs and besides, if he went to school he’d have been followed and when would he have time to do homework when he’s fighting to stay alive?

                He leans his head back and watches as she comes back out, the first aid kit tucked under her arm as she visits her other table, asking if they want dessert and leaving the bill when they decline. She smiles cheerily and tells them to come back before heading back to his table.

                “Really, I’ll be fine.” He can’t bite back the words, the habit of appearing tough ingrained in the five years since he joined the Serpents, “I’ve been in worse shape.” He adds.

                Betty Cooper looks at him with a shade of empathy glimmering in her peridot colored eyes. “I’m sorry to hear that, Juggie.” Voice softer than his favorite blanket from his childhood, the nickname she hadn’t called him since middle school is a sledgehammer to whatever shred of dignity he’s managed to hold onto this long.

                Sighing, he moves his jacket from beside him, allowing her to sit down and open the first aid kit. She rummages through it before taking out an alcohol wipe to clean up his face, the first one coming back mixed with dirt and blood that makes her bite her lip in an adorable manner as she surveys it. She regards him for a moment, “Hang on.” She says, finally, getting up and all but running back into the kitchens before reappearing with a bag of frozen vegetables.

                He hisses as she presses it on his swollen eye, the pain biting at first before melting into relief as the cold numbs the spot. He reaches up to hold the bag and feels the slightest shock jolt across his skin as their hands brush briefly. “Thanks.” He mutters, not meeting her eyes.

                That didn’t mean he couldn’t sense her smile as she asks, “Where else are you hurt?” But, she doesn’t wait for a reply before she reaches out, just barely skimming his thermal shirt near his ribs and he jerks to avoid her touch, both because of the pain and the electricity between them. Growling, he bites the inside of his cheek as the pain throbs at his movement and she shakes her head, “Jughead Jones, you’re letting me take you to the hospital when my shift is over.”

                He sneers as he pushes with his feet to slide farther into the booth and away from her, “Like hell.” He growls at her, “I don’t have money for food, what makes you think I have money for medical bills?” Just the thought of going to the hospital makes his stomach roll. Medical bills, doctors, the health industry as a whole, really, had a pretty hand in the eventual end of his parents’ marriage. He doesn’t trust anything to do with it, “The Serpents have a guy who’s good at fixing us up. I’ll be fine.”

                The mention of his gang brings a sadness into her green eyes that makes him almost regret his words, “Juggie, you need your ribs wrapped up. You need to rest and heal. You can’t go back to the Serpents just to get sent back out in your condition.”

                Scoffing, he folds the one arm that wasn’t being used to hold the frozen bag of peas on his eye against his chest, “What do you even care?” The words are lame, his last attempt to push her away, get her out of his booth, to stop whatever was building inside of him in her soothing presence.

                She doesn’t get a chance to reply, as Pop rings the bell to alert Betty that her order is up and she gives him a hard stare before leaving him to grab it. He breathes easier when she leaves the space beside him, but she’s still within his line of vision and he watches her hungrily as her blonde ponytail sways back and forth, her skirt moving in tandem with it. Like they are in a dance together.

                A very primal part of Jughead suddenly imagines bending her over the table, fisting her ponytail in one hand as he pushes up her skirt with his other hand and buries himself inside her. He groans at the thought and once more bites his cheek as he pushes the inappropriate thoughts away. He can’t be imagining such things when she gets back or he’d have to move his jacket onto his lap to cover what was becoming embarrassingly obvious. He peeks up to see her making her way back, a plate in each hand and he feels dread at the thought of sharing a meal with her.

                She was too good for him, why the hell was she being so… _kind_?

                Betty sets the plates down, one in front of him and one across, and then turns away to retrieve the two milkshakes Pop puts on the counter. Jughead closes his eyes as he inhales the aroma of the fries and burgers. Instantly, his mouth is salivating and he reaches out to take a single fry, sure that the taste couldn’t really be as amazing as he remembers.

                It’s even better than his memories.

                “How long since your last meal?” Her whispered question startles him, catching him with a mouthful of fries as he pauses to watch her sit across from him. He’s equally surprised to find no pity in her eyes, just a sadness he can’t pinpoint the source of.

                Slowing down his eating, he swallows the greasy, salted fries that are in his mouth before thinking seriously back to the last thing he’d eaten, “Wednesday?” He questions, setting the melting freezer bag of peas on the table.

                Her eyes, the green of sea glass, trail over his swollen, black eye and she sighs as she takes a bite of her burger. She chews in silence, sipping her vanilla shake, before clearing her throat, “Did you join the Serpents right after you transferred?”

                “Yeah.” He mutters, shortly, not really feeling like diving into his origin story but feeling as though it was inevitable, “Had to survive the southside somehow. It beat living in Riverdale with a target on my back.”

                “You had friends…we could have figured out a way to protect you from the Blossoms.” She murmurs, though the words were hollow. They both knew that there was little she and Archie could have done.

                He musters his best dry look, “My father turned in Clifford for the murder of his son. A murder Clifford paid my dad to clean up, not rat him out. There was never a chance a few teens could save me from the men Clifford sends out after me.”

                Her mouth drops just a touch and he doesn’t even feel satisfaction at surprising her, “He actually sent men after you?” She asks, her eyes searching his face, perhaps wondering at his beat-up state.

                Jughead turns away from those eyes that make him wish he’s human and he glances out the window to his right, wondering, again, if he was followed, “He’s still sending men after me. There’s nothing Blossom wants more than my head on a shiny, silver platter.”

* * *

  _Lyrics from 'Say You Won't Let Go' By James Arthur_

 


	2. Carry On

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> “Though I’ve never been through hell like that, I’ve closed enough windows to know you can never look back…” -Carry On by Fun.

                She’s stunned by his words, by the fact that Clifford Blossom has a fucked-up sense of justice, by Jughead's appearance here tonight, and by the war-torn air that hangs all around him, as though it’s in the marrow of his very bones. If what he is saying is correct, he’s been hunted down by men for five years, at the very least.

                And she admits, honestly, he looks like it. Jughead Jones is a mess; the jeans are dirty and torn, his dark grey, thermal shirt has seen better days, and his signature beanie has one or two tiny holes in it. He’s too thin, he’s got dark circles under his bluish grey eyes that remind her of a storm at dusk, and his shoulders droop as though he’s been carrying so much weight for so long…

                Seeing him, hearing the truth from his lips, makes a lead ball of grief build in her stomach and she reaches out for his hand, almost crying as he sees the movement in the reflection of the window and pulls his hand out of her reach, “What are you doing, Betty?” He asks harshly, a wild creature as his eyes turn from the window to look at her, a hardness there that she doesn’t remember from tenth grade. But, of course, at that point in his life he wouldn’t have been continually hunted down by a vengeful murderer.

                Something about his wildness makes her straighten her spine and square her shoulders, her spine steeling with the stubbornness she uses when she knows she has to step in, “I’m going to help you, Jughead.” She tells him, narrowing her eyes on him to prove he can’t say a damn thing to stop her.

                His mouth quirks at the edges but then he scoffs at her, “The most you’ll do is get yourself hurt.” He tells her, shoving the last of his burger into his mouth before digging into his pocket and tossing the change he has in his onto the table. It’s not forty cents, it’s thirty-eight, and he rolls his eyes at it before standing up with gritted teeth and grabbing his jacket, “Stay away from me.” He says, bitterly, and in high school the words would have worked because back then she’d been in love with Archie and she didn’t want to get involved with his friend. But, now Archie is miles away and a homewrecker, and Jughead’s always elicited a protectiveness in her that’s scared her.

                Which is why she never sought him out after he’d left Riverdale for the South side. It’s suddenly her biggest regret.

                But, now she knows that some bit of fate was at work here, bringing him back to Pop’s diner when he hadn’t been here in five years. Bringing him here an hour before her shift was over, so she could help him, so she could see that he was at the end of his sanity and he _needed_ her. He just didn’t know it, yet.

                He’s already out the door as she sits there thinking it all over. Growling lowly, she slides out of the booth and runs after him, stopping just outside the door as he turns the key in his truck-she recognizes it as FP’s 1994 F-150-and the motor turns over. Her ears pick up the problem as he attempts to start the car again and then he hits the steering wheel as the truck refuses to start for a second and third time before he gives up.

                Betty keeps the smugness from her face as she strolls towards the truck and rests her folded arms on his open window. He’s got his forehead pressed to his arms on the steering wheel and he ignores her for a few seconds before rolling his head to peer at her with eyes the color of twilight, eyes that spread a flush over her skin.          

                “Need a ride?” She asks. She can see him biting his inner cheek and he leans back and rubs his ribs, his expression dark and broody. It makes her hide a smile, remembering that same look at his face throughout middle school and high school.

                But, then he says words that take her aback, causing tears to choke her throat at the low cadence of his voice, “I don’t have anywhere to go.” She’s lucky she even caught the words, lucky the night is so quiet.

                “You can’t stay with any of the Serpents?” She asks, wanting with every part of her being to brush away the obsidian lock of hair from his forehead but knowing that would only anger him. He’s not the same kid she knew from her childhood. He’s a feral man who’s been through a hell she could never understand. Her heart is breaking for him.

                Jughead shakes his head slowly, “Tonight was the straw that broke the camel’s back, so to speak.” He says, his words are still that of a boy who likes to read and write, the author he once wished to be still buried deep inside him, somewhere. He just needs a safe place to rest, a place he doesn’t have to fear for his life.

                Betty knows she wants to give him that place, but she’s scared all the same because she can’t understand where the feelings are coming from. “What happened?” She whispers, once more curling her fingers into her palm to keep from touching him and to perform her ritual move of distracting her anxiety with physical pain.

                “Blossoms men caught up to me. I was with one of the younger Serpents. He tried to help and now he’s in worse shape than I am. I’m a threat to the gang, too much of a liability after five years of having my back. They’re sick of it. Told me to get going.” He grips the steering wheel, glaring at the balled-up leather jacket beside him like it’s the reason his life is fucked up, “I’m out. My own father can’t risk taking me in.”

                Indignant anger scorches through Betty, “It’s his fault in the first place!” She bites out, her righteous fury causing him to flinch back. She digs her nails in once more and then releases them and calms her breathing, “Juggie…” She pauses as his eyes close at her nickname for him, looking as though he could get used to her voice, and she feels confident she can convince him of her next words, “Come home with me.”

                He raises a slim, dark eyebrow, “I don’t think Hal and I will make good roommates.” He says, sarcastically, drumming a finger on the steering wheel, “And I won’t put you in danger.” He adds, not like an after-thought but so his words are firm and final.

                She shakes her head, ready to fight him on this, “I live in an apartment building. Third floor, alone. Only people with a key card can get into the building and there’s a guard at the front desk who makes sure no one slips in with the people who live there.”

                “Sounds too good to be true.” Is his short reply, but she sees her words are getting to him. There’s a glimmer of a sad hope as he interrogates her, “How can you afford a place like that on a waitress’s salary? While going to school?” His tone is full of derision.

                Betty recognizes all of his attempts to hold her at arms lengths and she’s hellbent on pushing through them all, “I couldn’t keep living at home, I needed my own place and the only way my dad agreed to help was by making sure I was some place safe. Come home with me, Juggie. We’ll figure things out. You need to rest, you need steady meals.”

                He slams a hand on the dashboard, “Betty! It’s not your fucking job to take care of me. I’ve been fine this long, I’ll continue to survive.”

                “Surviving isn’t enough, Jughead!” She yells back, “This isn’t a life! Just forget your Serpent ego for one damn second and accept this offer. You deserve more than what’s been dealt to you.”

                The dark-haired man is grinding his teeth, conflicting emotions flickering across his face as he glares out the windshield. Finally, his shoulders sag and he rubs his eyes, “I’m tired, Betts.”

                She melts at the nickname only he’s ever called her and she’s opening his door, helping him out of the truck and he follows with heavy footfalls, allowing her to get him into the passenger seat of her old Buick. Instructing him to wait there, she goes back into the diner to tell Pop that his truck will be in the parking lot until she can get back and fix it, and then she goes back outside, and pops the hood of the F-150. It takes only a few minutes to get out the starter and she puts it on the back floor of her car before she pulls out of the parking lot and heads home. Her passenger is quiet while she drives, his face impassive and his eyes half-closed.

                Betty lets him have his silence, aware that Jughead Jones has never been one to talk excessively and she knows she’s overturning his world right now. But, her gut is telling her to do this because she’s already turned her back on him once without really meaning to and he doesn’t have anyone else. Which brings a question to mind that she’s asking before she can remind herself that’s she’s supposed to be giving him his peace and quiet, “All that stuff about a Serpent who can fix you up, that was what? A lie to get me off your back?”

                He shrugged before sighing, “It’s not really a lie. I never said I was going to see him.”

                Glancing at him, she furrows her brow and turns back to the road. Jughead was never a dishonest boy, but now he seems to hedge around the truth. It makes her slightly nervous about what else he could be omitting. She notices he keeps checking behind them, his paranoia becoming infectious as she asks, “Do you think we’re being followed?”

                “No. It’s usually a few days before his hired men find me again. It’s just a habit.” He pulls his beanie off and rakes a hand through his hair before replacing it. She decides she wants to fix those holes when he’s asleep and she’ll have to go food shopping because he’s skipped too many meals. As if he can read her mind, he mumbles, “I’m not a puppy you just brought home, quit thinking of all the things I need.”

                His dry words and his ability to read her makes her laugh and she glances over to catch a small smile playing on his lips as he leans his head against the seat. She feels more content in his company than she has in a long time.

When she turns into the parking lot of her apartment building, her nerves are on high alert for men out to get them, Jughead’s assurances that it will be a few days doing little to pacify her when this is all so new to her.  She shuts off the car and quickly gets out so she can help Jughead out of his seat but he’s alert once more and is out of the car and meeting her by the taillights, removing his hat in a swift move and shoving it into his back pocket.

                She watches the action curiously but doesn’t question him as she turns and leads him to the entrance, scanning her card and going up to Jared, the security guard, “Hi, Jared. Can I sign in my guest?”

                Jared’s probably close to thirty and he’s always hinted that he’d be up for a date with her, but Betty hasn’t found herself interested in many guys since Archie ran off with her mother. First their music teacher and then her mother, the thought of Archie’s obvious mommy-issues rolls her stomach and makes almost any man she’s met since her parents’ divorce unappealing.

                Jared hands her the forms she needs and she shoots a side glance at Jughead as she scribbles down an alias for him and signs the last paper so he has permission to come and go. He’s looking around at the security cameras and the exits, taking in each one with a detailed eye that makes her ache for him.

                _Almost_ every man unappealing. Even in his roughed-up state, Jughead holds himself with a silent, demanding presence that calls to every womanly part of her. She’d even briefly imagined straddling a healed, better-fed version of him right there in Pop’s diner. The reminder of that thought sends blood rushing up her cheeks and she thanks Jared before leading Jughead over to the elevator.

                They step in and she presses the button for the third floor as she feels his gaze on her. “Are you sure about this?” He asks, a note of vulnerability buried in his words.

                “Yes, Juggie.” She meets his eyes to show she means it and she can tell he’s biting his cheek again. She wants to reach out and touch him, but he’s so skittish that she doesn’t dare attempt it again. Truthfully, she isn’t entirely sure how they are going to fix things, but there had to be something. Five years of being continually chased after by Clifford Blossoms’ men was too long. It infuriated her that FP hadn’t tried everything to protect him and she doesn’t understand why he’d cut him off now, like this. It just doesn’t make sense to her.

                He follows her as she steps out of the elevator and heads down the hallway, close to her elbow despite the fact that he doesn’t like being touched. His eyes are scanning the door numbers, his ears picking up the few noises that can be heard this late at night, and his shoulders are high and tight to his ears. For a moment, she wishes she’d gone to school for Psychology, so she can understand him instead of the cars she’s learning to fix now.

                “Here we are.” She breathes, quietly, as she unlocks the three locks on her door and swings it open, reaching in to flick on the main light so that Jughead knows it’s safe to enter.

                The way he hesitantly steps in, eyes searching each corner as he opens the closet doors and checks behind the curtains, speaks volumes of the kind of life he’s lived. Now that she thinks about it, he chose the one booth in the restaurant that no one could sneak up behind, not to mention it had the perfect view of both the front door and the kitchens.

                The serpents all drove motorcycles…except for Jughead. The metal of his father’s truck more protection than a motorcycle would have and her question is out before she can stop it, “Did you ever drive a motorcycle with the Serpents?”

                He stops at her question, his eyes turning on her swiftly as though he can read the direction of her thoughts, “Only once.” He tells her, the two ominous words hanging in the stillness of her apartment. He does not need to say anymore, she shuts her door and locks every lock, sliding the chain on for extra security.

                She glances around, seeing her apartment with new eyes as she judges how best to protect him. “My room doesn’t have a window, you’ll stay in there.”

                His eyes cut to hers, hardening like glass as he glares, “No. You keep your room. If they manage to get through the third-floor window, let them kill me and lock your door.” She opens her mouth to argue and he snaps, “It’s non-negotiable, Elizabeth!”

                Betty steps back as though she’s been hit, but Jughead turns from her and strides to the window, making sure it’s locked and that the curtains are drawn tightly, “I should have told you to sign me in with a different name.” He mutters, pacing around in her tiny one-bedroom like there’s more ways inside.

                She chuckles dryly, though it’s hard to find humor when he’s so keyed up. “I signed you in as Kevin Keller.”

                He turns to her at her words, his entire body suddenly relaxing and he’s looking at her with soft eyes as he tells her, so sincerely she’s stunned, “Thank you.” The words are out and then he's collapsing onto her sofa, exhaustion finally taking over and shutting him down.

                She wonders how long it's been since he's felt safe enough to sleep and then she gets to work patching him up. 


	3. Clocks

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> “The lights go out and I can’t be saved. Tides that I tried to swim against have brought me down upon my knees. Oh, I beg, I beg and plead…” -Clocks by Coldplay

He sleeps deeply for what feels like forever before his mind constructs the perfect nightmare, cleverly building it to appear, at first, like a dream.

**_He’s at Pop Tate’s diner, sitting across from Betty and Jelly Bean. They’re laughing and he knows it’s a dream because Jelly Bean looks ten years old. But, their smiles are wide and they are talking like there’s a connection between them and for a moment, he feels hope. As if it’s possible for_ ** **him _to be the connection between these two incredible girls. Betty reaches across the table and holds his hand, smiling as Jelly Bean talks, but in the dream, there is no sound. Only that very real feeling of her hand on his. He turns his hand over to twine their fingers together, marveling at the contact._**

**_Until the bell at the door rings a new person in and he realizes his back is to it and he can’t remember the last time he’s felt safe enough to have his back to anyone or anything. Before he can turn to look at who’s come in, two gun shots go off and his entire body goes rigid, waiting to watch himself die in this dream._ **

**_But, the bullets miss him and a strange noise, part growl and part sob, fall from his mouth as both Betty and Jelly Bean slump onto the lacquer table, blood spilling from gunshot wounds he cannot see and in a matter of milliseconds it turns his dream into a hazy, red nightmare._ **

**_And he’s suddenly up and across the diner, tackling the stranger with the gun who is dressed like the men who always come after him. His face covered behind a thick, black ski mask with only the holes for the eyes cut out._ **

**_The gun slides across the floor but that’s not what he cares about. He reaches for the damn mask, to put a face to any of the men who have ever tried hurt him and those around him. Jughead needs to know who it is that’s done this, the true killer of the two people his subconscious cares about most in this dream._ **

**_The mask comes off and the person beneath him does not look happy or sad, only stoic. He’s not fighting, not angry or pissed off._ **

**_But, he is familiar._ **

**_Jughead stares down at the blue eyes that he sees in the mirror in the rare instances he’s looked._ **

**_The man who killed Jelly Bean and Betty is…him._ **

That half grief, half growl noise he made in the dream startles him awake and the disorientation of not recognizing his surroundings is enough for him to ignore the pain in his ribs as he jerks up and looks around to gather his bearings.

            Immediately, Betty is sitting up, too, still half asleep as the soothing “shhh…shhh’s…” Are already out of her mouth as her hands reach up from where she’s laying on the floor to calm him down. One tangling in his hair, her nails scraping softly against his scalp, as her other hand rubs his shoulder, “You’re alright, Juggie. You’re safe.” She murmurs, green eyes slowly adjusting to being awake. Her hands stop and he knows she’s aware she’s touching him and that she knows he’s avoided this at every opportunity after the frozen peas incident.

            It’s not that he doesn’t like being touched, it’s that he can’t remember the last time someone touched him without the intent to hurt him. But, her hands are so quick to be on him, he doesn’t have time to flinch, and her touch is so gentle he feels that feral beast inside him simmer down into a purring, content creature. Her touch also elicits electric charges into his skin that seem to bring him to life, making a mockery of what he felt the night before when it was a simple brush of the back of hands.

            “Sorry.” She says, removing her touch from him just as quickly as she made contact.

            He feels the coldness of their absence like an open window in December.

            Jughead swallows back the words that he wants to say, something like _‘please touch me that way again’_ but he can’t allow them out into the world when everything soft and good in his life has been snatched away. He can’t even really believe he’s here now, with Betty Cooper, and she’s sleeping on the floor beside the couch he’s on, directly between him and the window, like a guardian angel. Even though he’d yelled at her the night before about staying in her room, she’s still here.

            “Why are you on the floor?” He croaks out, “And what time is it?” He sees slivers of daylight coming from the curtains, but he doesn’t spy a clock anywhere. Her apartment is furnished and cozy, but not overly so. The walls are a plain off-white, a vase of flowers sits on top of a small book shelf, a strange sculpture made of what looks like car parts is in the corner by the tv, two landscape paintings hang opposite each other, one of the woods and one of the ocean.

            Betty reaches for her phone on the coffee table and clicks the unlock button, the large numbers on the galaxy lock screen telling them both that it’s nearly 10:30 in the morning. “10:27. And I thought you might wake in a panic so I wanted to be nearby.” The words are easy for her, the thoughtfulness touching him and seemingly thawing some deep part of his soul that has been in a cold, wintry state since he was sixteen. He blames that on the first bite of a gun barrel pressed hard against his temple, shattering the summer of innocence so quickly, it leaves no room for the fall.

            His throat is thick, wondering how many people took her kindness for granted, and he clears it twice before he can get his words out, “Thank you, Betty.”

            She’s up and waving away his words, “You don’t need to thank me, Juggie. I should have kept in touch, I should have made sure you were alright after you left. Any human being would do this.”

            He bites down hard on his bottom lip to keep the furious, bitter words from spilling out. He’s known enough people to know this _wasn’t_ what any human being would do. The Serpents tried and they got attacked for it every time, FP tried and nearly lost his trailer and so much more, and every other person he’s ever approached has turned their back on him.

            Even Fred Andrews tried to help him once and he ended up in the ICU for three days before his condition stabilized.

            It’s only a matter of time before Betty give up, too. Or gets hurt. Could he live with himself if she got hurt?

            Jughead stands up, thinking perhaps it’s better if he leaves now, until he realizes he’s not wearing his clothes. “What am I wearing?” The shock steals the breath from his lungs and the words barely come out as a whisper, halting Betty as she rummages through her kitchen cabinets.

            “What?” She calls out, though she’s not terribly far away in the tiny apartment. She peers around the fridge to look at him before red heat crawls over her pale cheeks, “Oh, yeah. Your clothes were dirty and I didn’t have any men’s clothes…”

            He’s staring at the soft, fuzzy pajama pants in what he knows is horror, but it’s not so much the clothes as it is that this happened while he was unconscious. He lifts the black shirt that is snug enough to let him know it’s hers, and looks at the ace bandage that’s wrapped around his ribs. His breath shallows at both the thought of her soft hands on his body and in embarrassment as he hastily pushes the shirt back down to cover the scars.

“Juggie.” She’s watching him from the kitchen, green eyes large and full of so much emotion that he looks away, “Do you want to talk about those?”

            “No.” He’s harsh and short with her, but it’s only to protect himself. He glances back down at the pants that he can’t wear out in public. They’re black, sure, but not at all manly with the pink, blue, and purple star pattern and they barely reach a few inches above his ankles. “Where are my clothes?” He asks, trying to keep his anger, which is a direct result of the humiliation, tamped firmly down.

            “In my hamper. They were filthy.” Her voice is soft, like she knows he’s a ticking time bomb and she’s trying not to cause an explosion, “I’m…I’m sorry.” She murmurs, dropping her eyes and looking so distraught at having cleaned him up and wrapped his ribs that he suddenly feels like a jackass. Just like that, his anger and embarrassment is gone and he feels only shame for making her feel bad when she was only trying to help him.

            Jughead feels the strong urge to wrap her up in his arms but he holds back, “Betty.” She looks up, green-colored misery meeting his eyes and he rubs the back of his neck, “I appreciate all of this. I’m just…” He trails off, unable to formulate words for how fucked up he is. How loud noises make him jump, how his scars turn his stomach, and how unusual it is for him to fall asleep with someone else in the room.

            She’s shaking her head and crossing towards him, reaching out and he knows he’s eyeing her hand like it’s a hot iron brand because she closes it into a fist and drops it to her side, “You’ve been through so much, Jughead, and I don’t even know an ounce of it. But, I’m here when you’re ready to talk about it and I won’t push you any further. We’ll just…we’ll just keep things simple while you adjust to everything. How does that sound? Are you hungry?”

            His stomach growls in response to her words and he nods.

            She looks relieved, “You could shower while I cook? Pancakes or French toast?”

            Biting the inside of his cheek, he almost moans at the thought of a shower, which he hasn’t had in at least a week. Being naked and vulnerable like that meant he didn’t often take the chance just to smell nice, but he reasons with himself that he’s probably safer here than he’s been anywhere else in five years. He nods to her and then scratches his chin, which has gotten stubbly in the four days since he’s shaved, “French toast?” He asks, timidly.

            Betty Cooper smiles and it’s so damn beautiful that he wonders if Blossom’s men killed him last night and he’s wandered into heaven, though that seems unlikely to him. Perhaps this is hell, which he rightly deserves, and he hasn’t, yet discovered the true meaning of his torture.

            “Let me show you the shower.” She tells him, voice chipper as he follows her into the bathroom right beside the kitchen and watches as she removes a clean towel from the closet behind the door and she hands it to him as she flicks on the light and the exhaust fan. “Alright, pretty standard. Pull that little silver thing up to turn on the shower head and you adjust the temperature with this.”

            He nods as she squats down and rummages under the sink and pulls out a toothbrush still packaged neatly in its plastic, women’s shaving cream, and a disposable razor. “Clean toothbrush, razor if you want to shave,” She pauses looking sheepish, “I only have women’s shave cream, but it smells like strawberries and cream.” He doesn’t see how that sell it, but he feels a smile pull at one corner of his mouth as she turns to the shower and waves a hand, “Shampoo, conditioner and body wash are all in there. Don’t laugh at me, I always keep spares. I never know when Polly or Veronica is going to show up out of the blue and they always forget something.”

            Jughead wants to thank her again, but he feels like those are the only words he’s been saying so he simply nods again.

            She pauses, worrying her lip lightly and then murmurs, “Just use those clothes and I’ll take yours down to the laundry after breakfast. And, uh, I can re-wrap your ribs when you come out.”

            “Okay.” He says as they stand there awkwardly in the small bathroom for a few moments before she shakes her head and mutters something about French toast and quickly slips out passed him.

            He closes the door behind her and begins undressing quickly, wanting to feel clean and human instead of the wild, dirty creature he probably looks like. When he unwraps his ribs, he steps in front of the mirror above the sink and looks at the purple and blue bruises that paint a startling picture of his ribcage. It’s entirely possible one of them is fractured, but he won’t know for sure unless he sees a doctor. Which wasn’t going to happen. And all they could do, anyway, is wrap them like Betty’s already done. He’d much rather her hands on him than anyone else’s.

            He ignores the scars, not wanting to look at them and think of what Betty must think of him, and instead has the brilliant idea to he meets his own gaze in the mirror and he’s not at all surprised to see the stoic face of the gunman from his nightmare. It’s obvious what his brain is trying to tell him and he knows that if he sticks around too long, especially when Jelly Bean comes back, there’s a strong possibility that he could be the death of them.

            The knowledge makes him heave a heavy sigh. He’s tired of hiding, of running, of getting hurt.  For the millionth time, he plays with the idea of letting them take him out, but he’s too stubborn. He kind of enjoys the fact that Blossom is undoubtedly going crazy at the fact that no one he sends out after Jughead Jones has been able to get the job done. Being a thorn in the man’s ass is the only thing spurring him on, the only reason for survival.

            But, Betty’s kindness is making him wonder what it would be like to do more with his life than survive.

            He scoffs at his reflection and the strange thought he’s entertaining and he glares one last time at himself before he turns the shower on and lets the water turn hot enough to scold his skin. He spends most of the time scrubbing away all the dirt that’s accumulated and pushing away thoughts of Betty naked in here, showering right where he is.

            The inappropriate thoughts become overwhelming when he opens her shampoo and catches the strawberry scent that he recognizes from being close to her last night. It’s heavenly and he contemplates releasing his built-up tension but decides he deserves to be on edge. It will keep him aware of his surroundings and the thought of doing it in her shower shames him after all the nice things she’s done for him.

            When he steps out of the bathroom, he can hear the spit of the coffee pot brewing, the aroma filling the apartment, lingering pleasingly with the smell of French toast and maple syrup. He’s suddenly hit with the normal, domesticity of being here and his breath hitches as he sits down on the sofa. He can hear her moving around in the kitchen, humming softly or singing lightly with the song she has playing, and he’s grappling with how exactly to cope with the radical shift his life has taken not even twelve hours before.

            Of all the places he’s stayed in the Southside while being continually shuffled around by members to confuse Clifford’s men as to his whereabouts, none of them had ever been so comfortable around him. Most treated him like a rabid dog, keeping their distance and rushing to pawn him off on someone else before the men after him caught up to him and they were caught in the cross hairs.

            Taking control of his breathing, and ignoring the memories, he crosses the living room to peer out of the curtains to see which direction her window faces. He’s got a view of the parking lot and the woods beyond, the apartment building slightly north of the town of Riverdale, and thankfully on the outskirts. He relaxes just a touch, feeling more confident about everything now that he’s gotten to rest and shower, the smell of food and coffee filling the air, along with Betty’s soothing presence.

            The dark creature inside of him is surprisingly content. With his alias on the books downstairs and his truck dead at Pop’s, he’s got a good feeling about his chances this time. It’s the first time in a long time that he’s felt a kindling of hope and it scares him when he thinks about the nightmare and the hope he felt before the door’s bell rang out Betty and JB’s doom.

Hope is too fleeting to lean on; it’s not going to protect him, it’s not going to save him from the man who wants him dead.

            “Breakfast is ready.” Betty is in the doorway between the kitchen and the living room and he finally takes a good look at her. She’s in grey pajama pants like his, but they’ve got fat unicorns instead of stars and her blonde hair is down and still a little messy from sleep. She’s looking at him with sparkling green eyes and a smile that’s like a sucker punch to his heart.

            He doesn’t know how to act normal. He has next to know experience being around a woman, and this one in particular has a strange way of making his heart beat uncomfortably fast. “Can I have powdered sugar instead of syrup?” He asks as he moves forward.

            “You can have whatever you want, sugar.” She’s joking, but he can see her green eyes watching him closely. She’s too perceptive and too kind. Too sweet, too wholesome, too everything that’s the exact opposite of what he is.

            He feels like he would protect her over himself any day. He’s not sure if she’s the best thing that’s ever happened to him…or the reason he’ll end up dead.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> So much love and thanks to everyone commenting and leaving kudos! You've all spurred me on finishing this one but now I have to focus on a little homework so the next update will be a little slower. Leave me with any and all thoughts and feedback! I love it!


	4. Demons

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> “Your eyes, they shine so bright. I wanna save that light. I can’t escape this now unless you show me how.” – Demons by Imagine Dragons

            They ate breakfast in a comfortable silence, Betty’s phone still singing out the playlist she’d put on while cooking. Jughead didn’t seem to mind her eclectic taste in music-everything from Broadway musicals to Childish Gambino-and she even caught his mouth twitch in an almost smile when an Imagine Dragons song came on. She wondered if it was the lyrics, or if the song brought a particular memory to mind.

            Quite suddenly, she was struck by how much she wanted to _know_ the man who sat with her. She’d always liked Jughead, always tagged along with Archie when he said he was going to Jughead’s treehouse when they were younger, and even a few times without Archie. She’d bake cookies with her mother and then take some over to share with him. They’d sit together, just the two of them, eating the cookies and enjoying being high above the world. He’d always told her how much he loved anything she cooked.

            This Jughead didn’t compliment her cooking, but he certainly wolfed it down which was compliment enough. She contented herself with stealing glances at him, watching the way he interacted unconsciously with the music, with eating, and the way his shoulders hunched just ever so slightly. The way he sat in his seat, one leg stretched out to look relaxed while the other bounced ever so slightly, giving away the true anxiety he felt. As though he was prepared to jump up at any second. She couldn’t quite figure out how these two, antithetical emotions could coexist in someone.

            It must be exhausting.

            Nibbling on her lip, she cut her French toast with the edge of her fork and stabbed it a little aggressively before bringing it to her mouth. Just as she put the piece in her mouth, Jughead set down his own fork and stood to take his empty plate to the sink. “There’s more.” She told him around her mouthful, raising her hand to cup her mouth.

            He half-turned to keep his eyes on her and to keep his back from her, she realized sadly, raising one eyebrow at her for talking with a full mouth and she felt a blush rise up her cheeks, but then he looked to the plate of French toast and grabbed three more. She hid a pleased grin as he sat back down and sprinkled powdered sugar over them, something she was guessing stemmed from the fact that the family who controlled the maple syrup in this town wanted him dead.

            “Good food, Betts.” He mumbled around his own mouthful, the bulge of food scarcely hiding the small tilt of his smile. It warmed her to the core that, despite the fact that he was so damaged, he was still as kind as he’d always been. He may have been through hell, but he didn’t bring those around him down with him. It proved just how strong he was.

            “You’re staring.” He commented, this time after swallowing his food, and he looked uneasy, “I can leave.”

            She sat up and moved again to reach for him before she stopped herself, “Oh, no, Juggie. I’m sorry. I just…” She shook her head and set down her fork, “I mean, obviously you have issues. But, you’ve just been so…so sweet. I expected more…”

            “More of a monster?” His voice was a low rumble as he set down his own fork, “I know how to act like a human, Betty. No one would take me in if I behaved the way I feel inside.”

            Betty’s head whipped up at those words, her hand reaching out and placing it on his before she could stop it. His entire body tensed up at the touch but she ignored it, “How do you feel inside?” She asked him softly, wanting to understand.

            His jaw clenched as he stared hard down at their hands and a flash of angry rebellion appeared in his dusky blue eyes, “I feel like I live with a demon inside of me. Is that what you want to hear, Betty? I have to shove it down around everyone and pretend to be normal or no one in the Serpents will protect me. Oh, wait…” he scoffed and pulled his hand from hers, folding his arms in a closed, defensive position as he continued, “They already kicked me out. So, now I’m on my own. No money, no job, and men continually trying to kill me for something I didn’t even do. I’ve missed out on so much, college, my mother’s funeral…five years lost and I can’t-” He growled with such frustration, his legs kicking against the floor as he pushed the chair out and stood, knocking it over and causing Betty to jump a little at the loud bang as it hit the linoleum floor, “I can’t do this anymore, Betty!” His fist connected with the wall, a puff of dust bursting out as his knuckles caved in the drywall.

            He stood there breathing heavily for a moment before dropping his forehead against the wall, his fist still buried in it, ignoring her as she stood up and grabbed a wet cloth and the first aid kit. Slowly, she wrapped her hand around his wrist and pulled it from the wall, using the wash cloth to clean off the white dust of the dry wall silently for a minute.

            Rolling his head on the wall, he watched her with an unreadable look in his eyes and she opened her mouth and started rambling, “I know what it’s like to feel like you have no control over anything.” She kept her voice even and as soothing as possible, thanking her past self for taking those classes on CPR and AED where they always stressed how important it was to speak calmly to keep the other person calm. She started wrapping up the knuckles as she continued, “My mother liked to control everything in my life. What extracurriculars I took, where I went on the weekends, who I hung out with. I spent most of high school biting my tongue raw and when that didn’t work, I’d close my hands into tight fists until my nails cut into them.” He reached out with his other hand to take her hand, turning it over slowly and brushing his thumb over the half-moon scars. “My therapist says the physical pain is easier to cope with than the emotional.”

            When she finished bandaging up his hand, he caught her other one and turned that one over, noting this one had fresh marks and his brows furrowed, “But, your moms not in Riverdale anymore.” He stated, voice gentler than she’d ever heard it, fingers tracing lightly over the marks.

            Betty dipped her head, “Sorry. I accidentally did that one last night. I had to remind myself not to touch you. I didn’t want to scare you off.” She said that last sentence lightly, trying to inflect some humor.

            Jughead didn’t take the bait, just folded her hands up and held onto them, pressing them gently but firmly as he met her eyes, “You can touch me, Betty. Don’t ever hurt yourself to stop it. I’m just…not used to people wanting to touch me.” He looked miserable at admitting that.

            She let herself trust his words and she pulled one hand from his to cup his cheek, melting inside when he let his cheek sink into her palm and his eyes closed. “Juggie, we’re going to survive this. I swear it.”

            “You’re not the first person to say that to me. But, you are the first one I want to believe.” He replied, opening his eyes and half smiling at her.

            “Want to watch a movie while I wrap you ribs?” She asked, hoping to brighten him up a bit.

            The mention of his ribs brought his face caving in, “You keep fixing me up, maybe it’ll stick this time.” He joked darkly, but she could see how much he hated the idea of her seeing the scars that littered his torso as he turned away from her and walked towards the couch.

            Grabbing the ace bandage he’d brought out of the bathroom and the remote, she sat down beside him and turned her tv on, bringing up the Netflix app and choosing her profile before handing him the remote, “Pick something. Tv show, movie, whatever.” She told him, turning sideways and crossing her legs so she could get to work.

            He didn’t look at her as he pulled his shirt off and balled it up in his lap, raising his arms so she could do the wrapping as he tried his best to ignore her and pick something. Betty bit back the gasp that rose at seeing the amount of damage and scars done to him in the light of day and finding it equally hard to not trace each one with a finger or, the thought caused a blush to heat her cheeks, her lips.

            Betty furrowed her brows, trying to keep the sadness, pity, and every other thought off of her face so she didn’t make him feel any worse, and reached around him to start wrapping up the blue and purple bruises. Her eyes catching on new scars she hadn't noticed last night. A particularly thick, silvery scar on his upper back, just to the left of his spine, stood out more than any of the others. 

            She glanced up only once and saw that Jughead had his eyes closed, one cheek between his teeth and a hard expression on his face. She wondered what it meant as the click of the remote chose a movie and she turned to see what he’d picked just as she tucked the end of the bandage in. “All done. Oh, I love _The Crow_.” She told him softly, not surprised when he put his t-shirt on quicker than she could finish the sentence.

            He relaxed as much as she thought he was capable of and just as the movie began, rain started to patter against the window and Betty got up to grab the throw off the other chair and snuggled under it, raising a little bit of it to Jughead with a questioning glance. Regarding the blanket as a snake for a second, he finally sighed and pulled some of the blanket over him and Betty scooted closer so there was enough for both of them. For some reason, it didn't feel peculiar to have Jughead Jones in her apartment, watching a movie. It was like the five years separating the last time they saw each other didn't exist and they were just two teenagers watching Netflix. 

            “You would pick one of the most depressing movies.” She murmured after the opening scene of Eric and his fiancé Shelly getting murdered.

            When she glanced at him from the corner of her eye, she saw the half smile hovering along his lips. “It’s been awhile since I’ve seen this.” He replied.

            Betty smiled and they watched most of the movie in silence. She tried not to overthink the reasons Jughead picked it, figuring he just liked the revenge Eric meted out to all the men who had a hand in the murder, though she worried some of the more graphic, violent scenes would be a tad triggering for him given everything he'd been through.

            But, he never made any indication that the movie put him on edge. She supposed he wouldn't have picked it if he hadn't wanted to watch it. He seemed to actually get into it, chuckling at a few of Eric's sassier lines. She almost found herself watching his reactions more than the movie but forced herself to pay attention. 

            When the credits rolled, Jughead sighed and handed her the remote, “Your turn.”

            Smiling brightly, she chose a happier movie and leaned her head back on the couch, “I feel like we need a snack.” She mused, trying to think of what was in her kitchen cabinet. 

            Jughead nodded, “Popcorn.” He mumbled, running a hand through his black hair, “Extra butter.”

            Laughing, she tossed her part of the blanket on him and stood up to stretch, “What does this look like? The Bijou??” She teased.

            He paused _Finding Nemo_ and got up to help her, “One screening at a time? This would be an awful movie theater.” He replied, making her laugh again.

            She got out the container of popcorn kernels and her little popcorn machine, “Why don’t you get out the butter and start melting it while I pop?”

            Jughead opened the refrigerator and pulled out the butter, the noise of the popcorn maker filling the tiny kitchen as it heated the kernels. She reached up for a big bowl and a little bowl, handing the smaller one to Jug for him to melt the butter in the microwave.

            She watched as he cut up the stick and put the whole thing in the microwave to melt, shaking her head at the ridiculous amount he needed for his popcorn, “A whole stick, Juggie?” She asked, chuckling.

            “I said extra butter.” He replied over the noise.

            It was his strained voice and the nervous way his eyes kept flickering around the room that made her realize the loudness of the popcorn machine was bothering him. Though he tried to act normal as he waited for the microwave to beep.

            And then the kernels started to pop and she reached out as he jumped at the first few, her hand smoothing down his shoulder and arm, trying to infuse calmness into him. She reached his hand and clasped it gently, squeezing just a touch as he finally settled his eyes on hers. “I’m fine.” He breathed out, though she could see the way his muscles tensed every time a kernel popped.

            “It’s just popcorn. You’re safe here.” She replied, wishing he could believe her. She wanted so much to make him feel safe here.

            His eyes were steady on her while the popcorn continued to shoot out of the machine and into the bowl. Blue eyes drilling into her face as they flickered over the shape of her eyebrows, her nose, mouth, eyes, mouth. Her breath hitched and her own eyes fell to his lips. She unwittingly wet her own, though her brain was trying to talk her out of kissing a man she barely knew. A wild man, no less. One who had more baggage than an airplane.

            Quickly, as though he wanted to do it before he could think better of it, he leaned down and pressed his lips to hers, hands cupping her chin lightly. Betty’s hands flew up to grip his shoulders, to anchor her as she pressed closer as the blare of the popcorn maker and the hum of the microwave faded around them.

            Soft and sweetly, he kissed her and she felt a small moan climb up her throat at the taste of powdered sugar still on his lips. Betty wanted this kiss to last the entire day.

            But, the beep of the microwave startled him and he pulled away from her as suddenly as he’d kissed her. “Uh…that was-” he swallowed thickly and she stepped back as a blush rose high on her cheeks and she nervously adjusted the hem of her t-shirt.

            “It was really nice, Juggie.” She murmured, not wanting him to regret it. Turning away from him, she shut off the popcorn machine as the last kernel popped into the bowl. “Is the butter done?” She asked, unsure of how to handle this situation. She’d kissed Archie once, had a four-month long relationship with a guy from RCC, but never had a kiss felt as earth stopping as this one.

            “Yeah.” He breathed, taking the bowl of butter out and handing it to her, “Careful, it’s hot.” He warned, making sure her hand only touched the top part of the bowl that wasn’t as warm as the bottom. She gave him a small smile as she gazed at him from beneath her eyelashes and then turned to expertly pour it over the popcorn, making sure to shake the bowl so it covered everything.

            “Did you work at the Bijou? You’re a pro at that.” His voice was full of awe and she couldn’t stop the chuckle at such a little thing impressing him.

            He picked up the bowl when she was finished and waited for her to take the lead into the living room, “Actually, I took a course at RCC. Popcorn 101. It was a three-week intensive. Taught me everything I ever needed to know.” She joked.

            She pulled the blanket away from his spot so he could sit and then he lifted the bowl so she could toss it over his lap and snuggle over her side as she reached for a handful of popcorn, “Hmm.” He said, nodding as she hit play, “I think I’d like to major in Popcorn.”

            “Yeah?” Betty laughed as he played along, “Minor in concession?”

            He quirked an eyebrow at her, “Nah, theater.” He winked at her and she almost choked on the popcorn in her mouth, half-coughing and half-laughing as they quieted down and focused on the movie.

            The night of sleeping on the floor caught up with her somewhere towards Dory’s whale talking scene and she found her eyelids grow heavy until she finally couldn’t keep them open anymore. 


	5. Strength to Go On

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> “But we are what we are ‘till the day we die. Or ‘till we don’t have the strength to go on.” -The Strength to Go On by Rise Against

            He shouldn’t have kissed her. His brain kept repeating that over and over as they ignored what happened and went back to the movie. He focused on _Finding Nemo_ and ate his popcorn, relaxing in someone elses’ presence for the first time in a long time. But, really, he shouldn’t have kissed her.

            So, why didn’t he regret it?

            This is what she did to him and in such a short amount of time that his brain was still trying to wrap around it all. Betty was making everything feel safe, making him feel normal, and making him want more. More than a life of survival. They’d only been awake a few hours, but just doing shit as simple as eating breakfast and watching Netflix was enough for him. Especially when she was as sweet and kind now as he always remembered her. He’d thought, a few years ago when someone mentioned her in passing, that he’d imagined how good of a person she was. Couldn’t believe someone like her was real.

            Now, he knew it was all still true. And when they’d been in the kitchen, so close together and her once more touching him, assuring him, he’d lost all self-control. Forgetting that no one should be close to him because that made them as much of a target as he was, he’d let go and done exactly what his heart ached to do.

            While his brain was panicking at the loud popping kernels, his body went to the one source of comfort it could find in the chaos.

            Betty.

            The moment drowned everything away and he felt the flare of peace for the first time in so long…He was already preparing himself to focus on that memory for any future panic attacks.

            That kiss, that peace, it would be rare for that to happen again. He couldn’t _let_ it happen again.

            Sighing, he put the popcorn bowl on the coffee table and glanced subtly over to the blonde beside him. Her eyes were closed and the noise coming from her was the softest snore he’d ever heard. It was startling and…endearing.

            Pulling the blanket up to her chin, he let the movie play as he stood and paced around, checking out the window, the closet again, the bathroom, and her bedroom. He shouldn’t have been, but he was surprised when he flipped on the ceiling light that the room wasn’t the pink of her childhood bedroom. The comforter was dark grey and aqua stripes and her pillowcases a solid aqua to compliment the color scheme, and the walls were almost bare. Only one had a poster of a car he didn’t recognize with a very large spoiler on the back. Her nightstand had another weird sculpture of metal parts fashioned to look like a lamp, shade and all. He wondered if it worked, but didn’t feel comfortable enough to go further into her room and try it. He glanced at the low, long dresser of a dark, mahogany wood finish and the pictures lining the top and tucked into the space between wood and mirror.

            There were pictures of her and Polly, one of the whole family, and a few of her and Veronica Lodge. He didn’t know much about the brunette or where she was now, but he could see they were close from how many there seemed to be of them. One even had Cheryl Blossom with them and he felt a stab of anxiety at seeing the daughter of the man who hunted him.

            Just as he turned to leave the bedroom, he caught a picture of Archie and Alice. They were on a beach, both in bathing suits, their arms wrapped around each other. He wondered how Betty could still have a picture of them after what they’d done.

            He pursed his lips at the picture, wondering why the hell Archie gave up the opportunity to be with Betty, and pulled the door back to the half-open state it was in before he opened it.           

            Betty moved in her sleep so she was laying on her side in the spot he’d vacated and he fixed the blanket around her and wondered if he should leave. But, then he remembered he was still in her clothes and it was raining. He moved back around the living room, spotting his phone over next to the vase of flowers.

            He checked the screen and saw a few texts from FP. _Where are you?_ Followed by three more, _I talked to the guys. We’ll work this out, Jug. We don’t give up on family._ He snorted and hit the power button, shutting the device down and wondering if he should destroy it. Maybe he could get a burner phone, a shitty car and leave this whole fucking town behind. Let them think he died.

            It sounded like a great plan, except he wasn’t entirely sure Clifford wouldn’t go after Jelly Bean once he was off the map, once it was clear he was gone. It’d really been the only reason he stuck around. If the guys were constantly after him, it meant they weren’t gunning for some other innocent. Like his baby sister.

            Sighing, he sat down on the floor in front of the couch, Betty’s soft breathing in his ear as he leaned his head back and let his brain shut down for a bit.

            “Juggie.” He didn’t dream, hadn’t gone deep enough for his REM cycle to imagine more horrors, but a sweet voice prodded him awake, “Juggie, wake up.”

            His eyes snapped open and Betty was there, standing over him freshly washed and smelling like strawberries and cream. “Hey, what time is it?”

            She straightened, “Nearly six. I ordered in some Chinese food and your clothes are all washed and dried. I wasn’t sure what you liked, food wise, so I bought a bunch of different combos.”

            Now that she mentioned it, he could smell the tantalizing scent of fried rice, lo mein, and egg rolls. His stomach rumbled and he was surprised he’d once again slept with another person moving around him. Especially if she was in and out to do laundry. “Smells good.” He mumbled, rubbing his eyes and standing up to stretch out from sleeping on the floor.

            Betty smiled, “Great, it’s all out on the kitchen table!” She was so excited, he couldn’t stop a bit of a smile pull up his mouth.

            “Can I change into normal clothes first?” He queried, hesitantly. He wasn’t sure if he was planning on staying, but he did want to feel more comfortable in clothing that he knew.

            Switching gears and not replying, Betty turned from heading to the kitchen to her bedroom, disappearing for a second till she came back out with his clothes, “I guess I have to get used to you not in star pants.” She teased, handing him the neatly folded clean clothes.

            He took them, “Thank you, Betty.” He knew her thanks made her uncomfortable, and it did this time, too. She waved it and him away to the bathroom and he dressed quickly, sighing in relief when his beanie, freshly washed with the holes now sewed shut, was there and he looked in the mirror long enough to adjust it on his head.

            He stopped, peering at his reflection and realizing he looked younger than he did before he took his shower. Rest, food, and maintaining his hygiene actually didn’t look too bad on him. Reaching up, he flicked the one stubborn curl of black hair that always managed to escape from beneath the beanie before exiting the bathroom.

            “You don’t have to work today?” He called out, rounding the corner to the kitchen and raising an eyebrow at how much food she ordered. “Are you trying to fatten me up?” He asked dryly.

            Her back was to him, and she was shaking her head after the first question, her blonde hair out of its usual ponytail, drying and curling down along her back, “Nope and yup.” She said, popping the ‘p’s, “Sundays are my only day off. I have classes Tuesdays and Thursdays and Pop’s the days in between.” Betty turned, holding a plate she’d been fixing with a little bit of everything on it, but she froze when she took in his change of clothes and the beanie, a tender smile flourishing as she gazed at him, “Juggie, you look like you’re fifteen again.”

            Embarrassed, Jughead ducked his head, and replied snarkily, “God, I hope not.”

            Even with the snark, she laughed, “I agree. Fifteen was not a good age for me. That was the year I tried out for the River Vixens and Cheryl told me I looked like Betty Draper Season 5.” She rolled her eyes, holding out the plate for Jughead.

            He took it, mouth beginning to water as he inhaled the aroma and sat down at the table. Her reply about work and school catching up with his brain and he wondered what he’d do while she was gone, which in turn made him wonder how long he should stay. He wasn’t used to sticking around one place for long, but no one besides Pop knew he’d gone with Betty. For all the Serpents knew, he’d abandoned his truck at Pop’s and caught an empty train car out of town.

            Betty sat down with her own plate and as though she was reading his mind asked, “So, do you have game plan? Should we hide you here until we figure something out?”

            She’d been up and active while he’d slept and clearly, she was stewing over how to fix everything, “I don’t know if I wanna be cooped up here forever.” He admitted, glancing around and feeling claustrophobic.

            “Well, no, but until Clifford thinks you’ve left town and you’re in the clear…” She nibbled on her lip, a habit he was recognizing and one that made him particularly hot.

            He chewed thoughtfully on an egg roll, uncertain if there was a way of being free from Clifford while the man lived. “Maybe we should go see FP.” He finally said, “See if there’s a way we can fight back.” It seemed more reasonable to have a group backing him than just Betty, but then what good ever came from being with the Serpents? He survived, sure, but the longer this went on, the more the older members began to resent the unnecessary violence and threat to the gang. They’d been putting pressure on FP for some time.

            “If there was, wouldn’t FP and the Serpents already figured it out?” Betty questioned, echoing the direction of his thoughts once more, “It’s been five years, Juggie.” She looked a little uneasy as a thought occurred to her, “You know, I’m friends with Veronica. She’s dating Cheryl. Maybe we could enlist Cheryl’s help. Even she would admit going after you when your father turned him in is an awful and crazy thing to do.”

            Jughead tensed at the mention of Cheryl, remembering the fiery redhead as less than personable to him. He was sure she’d hate her father for killing her beloved twin, but Jug’s father did turn hers in. “I dunno, Betty. It seems like everything’s stacked against me and I don’t want you to get caught up in it all.”

            “I took you home, I’m kind of already caught up in it all.” She pointed out and he felt a rush of heat at the choice of words. She didn’t think anything of it, the words innocent when it came to Betty, and she nibbled on her own egg roll for a second, eyes gazing off. Suddenly, she perked up, in one of those aha! moments and he raised an eyebrow as she told him excitedly, “What if we dyed your hair blonde? I could tell people you’re my brother, the one my mother gave up when she was in high school.”

            He choked on his lo mein at her wild idea and it took a few minutes for him to get air into his lungs to replace the food he’d unintentionally taken down the wrong pipe, “Jesus, Betty.” He muttered, still clearing his wind pipe, “How could you just drop that all on me?”

            She blinked at him with wide, green eyes, “It was probably one of the factors that lead to my mother leaving my father. I forgot not everyone knows about it.” She paused, looking him over, “It could work, though. Your eyes are blue. With blonde hair, you could be the missing Cooper Boy. He’d be a few years older than me, but you’ve always had the old soul air about you, Jughead.”

            He regarded her, wondering if he was actually opposed to the idea or if it was just because his thoughts for her were decidedly _not_ brotherly, “I don’t know, Betts…” But, it was more than any other person had offered and it would allow him some freedom for a time.

            Part of him actually hoped this might work.

            “Let’s give it a go.” She pressed, “You’d be surprised at how often people see others by just their hair color. What do you say, Juggie?”

            Her excitement got to him and he sighed, “Do you think I’m more of a summer blonde or winter?”

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Betty's idea is a stroke of genius, I really wasn't expecting that when I started this chapter. Plot begins to pick up next chapter, which is almost done! Thank you to everyone who has left kudos, comments, and bookmarked me (I'm not entirely sure what that does, but it's awesome!) 
> 
> Sneak peak of this hilarious line from Chapter 6: ""You look like the child of FP and my mother.” She breathed out, staring at the light, honey waves and realizing she preferred his darker hair color.
> 
> Jughead chuckled, “That will definitely give Riverdale more gossip.”"


	6. Go to War

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> "We arm ourselves with the wrongs we've done, name them off one by one..." -Go to War by Nothing More

            Betty wasn’t one to brag, but she felt a very strong sense of pride in the following week as she introduced her brother, that she’d finally found and who agreed to come stay with her, around town. She’d gone out Sunday night to Walgreens and gotten all the things she needed to make Jugheads hair lighter than the obsidian black he’d been born with. While there, she’d called her dad and asked if she could stop at his place on the way home.

            When she got to his condo, her childhood house having been sold two months after Alice and Archie left for LA, she sat Hal down and explained exactly what was going on so he wouldn’t be blindsided when people around town started gossiping about his long-lost son.

            Hal took it all in stride, which surprised her. She did have a man staying in her apartment, but Hal was more infuriated by Clifford Blossom going for an innocent kid instead of FP. He calmed down after a few choice words then agreed to keep Jug’s secret and treat him like a son.

            Betty was infinitely grateful that he didn’t think her plan was absolutely ridiculous.

            Sunday night, Betty and Jughead researched how to properly lighten his hair and by midnight, Jughead was blonde. They both stared at him in the mirror of her small bathroom, stunned by the results.

            “You look like the child of FP and my mother.” She breathed out, staring at the light, honey waves and realizing she preferred his darker hair color. It was unsettling, too, to think of him in a brotherly way when the feelings he gave her were definitely _not_ sibling-like feelings.

            Jughead chuckled, “That will definitely give Riverdale more gossip.” He shook his hair out and ran a hand through it, “Is this enough Clark Kent-ing? Or should I get some glasses, too?”

            Laughing at the phrase, she bit her lip and tilted her head at him, "If Hannah Montana can get away with just blonde, so can you." She felt a giggle bubble up at the look he gave her for comparing him to Miley Cyrus so she added, teasingly, "But, if we don't buy you new clothes, you'll have to wear your underwear on the outside." She was pleased when that made him laugh again.

            She slept in her bedroom that night and the subsequent ones, but she kept the door open despite Jughead’s arguing. Monday, she worked the evening shift at Pop’s, Tuesday after class they went out and picked him up some clothes. He made a fuss about her paying for everything, but when she told him he couldn’t be dressed like a hobo, he shut up and grudgingly picked out some jeans and solid, dark colored shirts. She rolled her eyes at all the black and grey, but figured it was better than what he had and he’d turned his nose up at the polo shirts she’d picked out.

            Wednesday, she worked in the morning and in the evening, they went to a movie. They sat in the back, of course, so Jughead had a view of the entire theater.

            Already, the people of Riverdale were talking about Aaron Wilson, the son of Hal and Alice that they gave up for adoption when she was sixteen. It was a perfect cover, really. No one second guessed him at all, seeing his blonde hair and blue eyes and saying, “Oh, yeah. Cooper all over.” 

Betty got a phone call from Veronica on Thursday before class.

            “Elizabeth Cooper, why did I have to hear about your long-lost brother from Kevin?” Veronica skipped the hello, going right into the heart of their conversation.

            Betty was a terrible liar in most cases, but this lie was to save a man’s life, “Sorry, V. I’ve been busy with work and my last semester. I didn’t have a chance to call you to even tell you I’d found him.”

            “Well, give me all the details, girl!” Veronica was persistent and asked a million questions that Betty hoped she could remember all her answers to. Finally, she was able to extract herself from the call by telling Veronica she had to get to class. By the time she got home, she was exhausted.

            It wasn't until Friday night that she felt apprehension at her plan. She was midway through her shift when FP came in and sat at the bar stools. Moving closer and pretending to clean a dirty milkshake glass, she listened as he asked Pop if he'd seen any signs of Jughead, yet. Clearly, this wasn't the first time FP had been in here this week.

            When Pop and her were back in the kitchen, she asked, "You haven't told FP Jug came home with me, have you?"

            Pop didn't stop what he was doing, but answered her in a low, hushed voice, "Jug was in a real bad state, Betty, and I don't have nothing against FP, but I figured the kid could use a break from that side of town so I haven't said a word to FP about it."

            "Thank you, Pop. I think we should leave that decision up to Juggie." She smiled gratefully at the man, who returned it with a warm one of his own before she went to deliver a milkshake to one of her tables.

            Returning to the counter, she turned to confront Jughead's father as he called out to her, "Betty, right?" He asked, "Alice's daughter?"

            "Yeah, Mr. Jones. Long time no see. How've you been?" She asked, politely, writing up a bill for table seven.

            He was looking at her with brown eyes that saw more than he would readily admit to,"Could be better. Hey, you and Jug were friends once upon a time. Have you seen him?"

            She shook her head, trying to look sad but she was nervous she looked more defensive, "No, sir. Sorry. He was in Saturday night but my shift was over before he left." It wasn't a lie, not really. Just a little mishandling of the truth. "I hope you find him, though."

            FP nodded, eyes dropping to the ground. "Oh, one more thing, Betty." She'd almost gotten away from him but she paused to glance back at him. "Thanks for fixing the truck's starter." He tossed a few bills on the counter and left without another word, leaving her to stand there wondering how in the world he could have known she was the one to fix it.

* * *

            Joaquin was startled awake by his blaring ringtone and he cursed as he caught the bedside clock reading 8:24 am. He still had over an hour and a half before he needed to be on campus, why the hell was his phone making such a racket this early and on a Monday morning no less?

            “Answer the phone.” Kevin muttered, rolling away from him and shoving his head under his pillow.

            “Sorry.” Joaquin replied, feeling more awake the second he reached over and picked up the phone, reading the name that rarely ever reached out to him. “Hello?”

            The lilting, deep voice was one he heard from maybe three times a year, “Hey, little brother.” It was deep, just a touch scratchy, but so similar to the smooth cadence that he remembered their father’s voice sounding like that if he closed his eyes and thought hard, he could swear he was talking to him instead of Carlos.

            “’Los?” He got up from the bed to let Kevin sleep, softly closing the door behind him as he talked to his brother, “Is Sophie alright?” He asked, alarm for his pregnant sister-in-law leaping through him.

            A light chuckle preceded his reply, “Of course she is. Her and the baby are fine. She still has six weeks until he arrives.”

            Joaquin let out a sigh of relief, “Why are you calling me so early, then?” His brother didn’t often make unnecessary phone calls and they weren’t exactly the closest siblings. Ten years apart was a big age gap to overcome. Not to mention all of the other problems inherent in their relationship.

            There was a slight pause, “Don’t you have a class at ten?” Because, of course his brother knew his class schedule.

            The dark-haired Serpent sighed in frustration, “Yes. Carlos, why are you calling?” He bit out, a weird feeling in the pit of his stomach. Nothing good ever came from a spontaneous phone call from Carlos. The man liked order, schedules, and he didn’t like talking more than he had to.

            Unless it was for a case.

            “Alright. I’ll cut to the chase.” There was a pause and a sigh, “I got a strange phone call as soon as I got into the office. It’s for a case in Riverdale and I figured I’d give you a heads up that I’ll be in town. Maybe we could grab lunch.”

            Joaquin narrowed his eyes and ignored the invite, “Is this a job as a detective or…” Carlos owned DeSantos Detective Agency headquartered about an hour and fifteen minutes from Riverdale. It was a business he built from the ground up after leaving here ten years ago. But, Carlos had a dark past that they usually didn’t bring up, and it was tied in a trade that was far more unsavory than that of Private Investigator.

            “You know I don’t do that anymore.” Carlos’ voice was hard, an edge to it that was cautioning Joaquin to tread lightly.

            Joaquin rolled his eyes, thankful his brother couldn’t see him. Just because Carlos said he didn’t do those things anymore, didn’t mean he believed he’d changed. It wasn’t a profession that was easy to get into…or easy to leave. “Yeah, okay. Unless you’re hard up on money.”

            “I’ll be in town in a day or so.” Carlos said, shortly. Joaquin always brought the frustration out of Carlos, a man who could be as patient as a saint when charming secrets from other’s lips. There was a pregnant pause between the brothers, Joaquin quietly waiting for the other shoe to drop.

            And it did.

            “Hey, how’s FP and his son?” It was said so nonchalantly, he knew his brother was saying it on purpose. It was a hint, a signal…

            A warning.

            “Why?” His tone was reserved, the suspicion obvious.

            Carlos sighed, “Got a mess to clean up, kid-”

            Joaquin ended the call before Carlos finished his sentence, panic setting in quickly. He stood there for a second, almost breathless at the thought of what Carlos would do to Jughead. Motor skills taking action, he was in the room and pulling on clothes before he even realized Kevin was sitting there watching him.

            “Joaquin, what’s going on?” Kevin was rarely serious, but he was as he watched Joaquin move around the room, “Who just called?” He questioned, when Joaquin ignored him as he looked for his left boot.

            “That was my brother.” He said, voice muffled as he reached under the bed for the missing boot.

            “We’ve been dating for two years. How did I not know you had a brother?” Kevin pressed, getting up and starting to put on clothes.

            Joaquin ground his teeth as he shoved his boots on, “Kev, I don’t really have time for this.”

            Kevin stood in front of where he sat on the bed, glaring down with baby blue eyes, “Well, make time for it. Clearly, there’s something going on if I’m just finding out you have a brother.”

            The Serpent glared up at his boyfriend, “Did your father ever warn you about dating a DeSantos?” He asked, figuring now was as good of time as any to do this. His insides were alive with electricity at everything that phone call meant.

            Folding his arms across his chest, Kevin eyed Joaquin, “No. Because I wouldn’t tell him your last name until he’d met you a couple times.”

            Rolling his eyes, Joaquin stood and shoved a hand through his hair, “There’s not too many Joaquins in Riverdale or the Southside, but I appreciate your father giving me the benefit of the doubt.”

            “What are you talking about? What does this have to do with your brother?” Kevin’s voice was a touch higher. A panicked, overdramatic Kevin was not what he needed right now.

            “Kevin, calm down. I don’t talk about my brother because there’s ten years between us and because we don’t talk very often. He left Riverdale when I was eleven.”

            “Oh. But, still. You should have told me.” Kevin looked less upset, but he was still attuned to the anxiety rolling off of Joaquin, “Why did he call?” His voice was softer, now. Soothing.

            Joaquin shut his eyes tightly, readying himself to say the words that might actually send Kevin away. “My father and brother…they were the Boogeymen of Riverdale up until thirteen years ago.”

            “The…” Kevin trailed off, taking a moment to catch up. He’d have been too young to really remember much of that period of Riverdale. It wasn’t something others talked about very often. A shadowed, deeply dark, chapter in Riverdale’s timeline that went unmentioned in the event it brought either of the Boogeymen back…

            Of course, one of them was most definitely dead.

            “Boogeymen.” Joaquin finished for Kevin, “You’d have only been 7 or so at the time they caught my father.”

            Kevin didn’t quite meet his gaze, “Go see FP. We’ll talk when you get back.”

            Joaquin left the apartment with a ball of lead in the pit of his stomach, knowing that Kevin would be calling Sheriff Keller right now for more information on the Boogeymen.  Sighing, he pulled his phone out and called FP and then Jughead. Jughead’s phone went straight to voicemail, FP didn’t answer.

            His chest tight, he drove straight to the Whyte Wyrm “FP!” He called out as he pulled the front door open. He was surprised when he found a lot of the older guys standing in the center of the bar as though they were in the midst of a meeting. It had been just over a week since Jughead and Skinner came back all beat up and they kicked Jughead to the curb, something that still pissed Joaquin off. He and FP had been looking for him everywhere and all they’d found was his car at Pop Tate’s but not much else.

            “What’s the matter?” FP asked, stepping out of the crowd at the urgency that hung around the younger Serpent. Joaquin glared at everyone except FP, still so furious at them for abandoning Jughead when they’d never given up on anyone before.

            Not even the youngest DeSantos, whose father nearly ran the gang into the ground and gotten them all killed or jailed.

            He swallowed back the angry words he wanted to hurl at them and instead took a page out of his boyfriend’s book and stunned them with his news, “Carlos. He’s coming back to Riverdale.” He paused before grinding out, “For Jug.”

            FP’s gaze was sharp and calculating, looking so much older than he ever had before, “That don’t sound right. Carlos despises Blossom more than anyone else in this goddamn town.”

            Joaquin shrugged, not sure Carlos' exact intentions but knowing his brother saying he had a 'mess to clean up' was not something he'd say lightly. Joaquin told them the only conclusion he could come to, “He said he has a mess to clean up, FP. Maybe Blossom’s paying him enough. The agency isn’t doing well and Carlos has a kid on the way.” He paused, something else occurring to him, “And maybe he’s got something against you. You know, for taking over the Serpents after Antonio died.” He was only guessing because he didn’t know his brother well, had never really known him at all, to be honest. He could only remember the nights when Carlos would come home covered in a sticky, red substance that hadn’t come from any wound on him. The bathroom always smelling like bleach after he was done cleaning up. There might have been vague memories of a brother that doted on him, but there were too many other memories of people whispering about ‘Carlos the Cleaner’ and the nights he came home looking like the monster he was often called.

            Carlos DeSantos was many things. But, innocent was not one of them.

            The Serpent leader rubbed a hand over his jaw, “Blossoms’ finally snapped if he called Carlos. And we can’t even find Jug to warn him.” The worry in FP’s voice was so obvious, yet everyone ignored their leader’s touch of weakness. One guy clapped a hand on his shoulder.

            “I’ll visit Pop, again.” Joaquin offered, though he knew FP was there Friday. “He likes me.” Joaquin told him, resolve setting in. Jughead, for all the shit he’d gone through, always had Joaquin’s back and anyone else's. He was always the first to stand up and defend anyone, the first to jump into a fight. Which is why their betrayal cut so deep.

            He’d be damned if he let his brother get to him before he did.

            As he left, he heard FP curse and say to the others, "The Cleaner being back doesn't bode well for anyone. Sometimes wish the rope hadn't snapped when Blossom had him hung."

            Joaquin swallowed back the bile as FP’s words brought up the awful story of his brother's last encounter with Clifford Blossom. He hadn't been there, but hearing a tale as horrific as that one as a child often painted a more gruesome scene in the imagination of the kid. He could picture his brother swinging from the rafters of the Blossoms’ barn with such detail, it turned his stomach. Especially because he'd seen the state Carlos had been in when FP brought him home that night.

           Carlos almost didn’t survive that and he still bore the scar of the rope around his neck. His brother was a making of his environment, but he hadn’t deserved that. Not after everything Clifford Blossom did to their family. Which is why he couldn’t understand why any price of money would have him working for him.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Carlos is my OC and I'm jazzed about introducing him and even more excited to get things on the road! I'm ready for some excitement! I have a busy weekend planned but I'll try and get the next one up no later than a week!! :D Thanks to everyone taking the time to read, leave a kudo or comment!!


	7. Midnight Hands

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> “We face a crossroad never knowing what’s in store. There’s an angel on my shoulder, there’s a devil at my door.” -Midnight Hands by Rise Against

            Jughead was honestly surprised by the change simply dying his hair had on the town of Riverdale. He didn’t go out much, just in case, but when they went clothes shopping and to the movie, people came right up to talk to Betty and meet him. They crooned over him as Aaron Wilson, as friendly as Betty always was, rather than rude as most were to him when he was just Jughead Jones. It was deeply unsettling to see people who’d scorn him in the past openly embrace him.

            Betty told everybody he was a bit shy, to explain his obvious discomfort around…well, pretty much everyone. But, he tried to be a touch more open and charismatic as he imagined Betty’s real brother would be.      

            Which was exhausting and left him baffled and awed by the woman he was currently staying with. He remembered her distinctly in high school, always surrounded by students. Between the people she tutored and her friends, he’d simply thought she needed constant attention; that it was _her_ that couldn’t be alone. But, now after seeing the independent and solitary life she led, paired with the constant barrage of greetings she got when they were out in public, it was becoming obvious that line of thought was wrong.

            Betty didn’t need people. People were just drawn to her. As if she were the magnetic north pole, pulling every compass needle straight to her.

            Locking the apartment behind him, he shook his head from thoughts of Betty as he made his way to the stairwell. He took the steps two at a time up one floor and then opening the access door to the roof, leaving a brick to keep it from closing and locking him up there. He unfolded the chair he’d brought with him and sat down, pulling the paperback novel he’d borrowed from Betty’s book collection and opening to the page he’d bookmarked.

            He’d found the roof access while exploring the apartment building last week. Not many people knew, but Jughead Jones liked heights; perhaps stemming from a childhood spent climbing trees and sleeping in his treehouse and coupled with his brief stint working in the Twilight Drive-In’s reel room, high above the cars parked below. Any place that gave him an aerial advantage made him feel safer than anywhere else. It allowed a freedom, a sense of comfort, to see everything and to know there was no plausible way someone could sneak up on him, or drop from the limitless sky above him.

            Jughead sighed, stretching out his legs and leaning an elbow along the edge wall that came up about three feet. From here, he could see the parking lot below and even though he knew Betty wouldn’t be home for a couple more hours, he’d look up from the book every so often.

            He knew she worked Mondays, but he hadn’t thought to ask her which shift, only assumed it was an evening shift, so when he woke up this morning to a hastily scrawled note that told him she was working eight to four, he’d found himself just a touch disappointed.

            A piece of his blonde hair fell into his eyes and he gazed up at it a few moments, distracted from his book by the golden lock. It was odd to see it when he was used to the darkness of his own hair. It was actually a bit poetic and if he still had his old laptop, he’d write about the way it seemed as if the night Betty entered his life for a second time lit everything in his world up. Including the lightened hair.

            Just being around the perky blonde eased him and alleviated the load he’d been carrying on his shoulders for five years. It baffled him how easily he shed it all when she walked into the room.

            Especially because it made him all the more protective of her. Like yesterday, when they’d went out for late night ice cream at the Dairy Queen in Greendale and a car back fired, startling him and causing him to drop his ice cream and lunge at Betty. He tackled her to the ground and laid there, his body protecting her as he looked around them for the source of what he'd thought was a gunshot for a solid minute before her soft voice soothed him back to reality, assuring him it was a backfire and not a bullet.

            Both of their ice cream cones were on the ground and he’d felt heat rise up his cheeks as he realized he’d ruined everything by overreacting. Betty, of course, told him that his actions surely would have saved them if they really were being fired at.

            Jug was extra lucky that they were the only ones at the Dairy Queen and that they weren’t in Riverdale, or else he was sure they’d have to explain to someone why Betty’s brother was on top of her in the middle of the parking lot.

            He shook the blonde lock out of his eye, hating this ruse they had going even though it was working, and tried to focus on the sci fi book he’d found among Betty’s other novels. Her collection was as eclectic as her taste in music, with everything from romance, to auto mechanic manuals, to classics. This one, however, stood out to him because of all the creases in the paperback spine, a sign of how well-loved it was. When he read the synopsis, he was surprised that it was a sci fi and a romance, set in a futuristic galaxy system where people flew spaceships from planet to planet.

            But, it was the main character that struck Jughead as he read. The man had been through hell and back, covered in scars and an ex- assassin; deadly lethal. He signs up to be a bodyguard for a dancer who’s being targeted because her father is a President on one of the human planets.

            Of course, it’s romance. So, they fall in love. Jughead wants to scoff at that aspect, but the way the lead heroine begins to smash down his walls and love him reminds him a lot of what Betty is doing now.

            That scares him more than anything. He’s already worried about Jelly Bean, he can’t worry about Betty, too.

            But, he does. Only a week of being around her almost exclusively is enough for him to know it.

            The hours slip by as he takes turn reading and arguing inwardly with himself until his ears pick up the approach of a car. He pulls his phone out and powers it on. He’s been leaving it off most of the time, ignoring the texts from his father about rejoining the Serpents, but he’s surprised to see new ones now. From Joaquin. Along with missed calls and a voicemail.

            Looking over the edge, he sees Betty pull into her usual space and shut off her car. Just as she opens her door, another car turns into the parking lot and parks a few spots away from her. It’s not one he recognizes and he pulls the small notepad he keeps in his back pocket out and looks at the list of cars all of Betty’s neighbors have.

            A maroon car isn’t one of them.

            Betty is heading to the building and his eyes widen at who gets out of the car. Quickly, he picks up his phone and dials the number of the last missed call. The person stops, pulls their phone out, and answers.

            “Jug?” Joaquin’s voice is relieved, stopping him from pursuing Betty.

            “Joaquin, can’t you and FP take a hint? I’m not coming back to the Serpents.” He hopes his friend doesn’t look up, Joaquin being one of the few who knew his tendency to seek high ground.

            He watches the Serpent get back in the car and only now realizes it’s his rarely used Pontiac Trans Am since he usually prefers his Honda motorcycle, “Jug, FP might be trying to get you back, but I’m calling you for a different reason. It’s Carlos.”

            Jughead squints up at the sun that’s slowly falling to the horizon. “What about the Cleaner?” The nickname is all Jughead will call him, refusing to give a human name to the monster from his childhood. There was nothing human about the man.

            He hears Joaquin swallow, “He’s coming to Riverdale. For you.”

            A few curse words escape, though even to his mind it doesn’t make sense. “He hates Blossom.” He retorts.

            Sighing, Joaquin is silent, choosing his words, “I don’t know why he would take the job, Jug. But, we need to get you as far from here as possible. Where are you??”

            He can’t tell Joaquin to leave Betty alone, that would give him away, “I’m in hiding, where else? I can take care of myself.” Inside, he amends that ‘I’ statement with ‘Betty’, though he doesn’t know how long that will last now that the Cleaner was coming for him, and then he adds, “Just do what you can to keep the Cleaner away from Jelly Bean. She’s almost done with school, she’ll be back in Riverdale in two weeks.”

            Joaquin’s voice is serious, “I’ll do whatever I can, Jug.” Suddenly, he laughs, “Do you know, I just followed Betty Cooper home from Pop’s to see if she was hiding you? I feel like an idiot.”

            Jughead closed his eyes, sending up a silent prayer, just as footsteps on the gravel roof made him turn around, “Juggie?” Betty called out and he shook his head at her as he quickly spoke to cover up the sound of her voice, “Gotta go, DeSantos. I’ll call you when it’s safe.” He hung up without waiting for a reply and then peered over, counting the breaths until Joaquin finally started the Trans Am and left.

            He turned to see Betty covering her mouth, her eyes green spun glass-colored and wide as she gazed at him, “Did he hear me?” She finally asked, in little more than a whisper.

            Blowing out a deep breath, Jughead shakes his head, “I don’t think so. I don’t know.” He rubbed his forehead, as though to calm his brain from the latest development in his shitty life. “The Cleaner is coming to Riverdale for me.”

            Betty’s staring at him with a blank look, trying to decipher his words, “The Cleaner?”

            He forgot it wasn’t a well-known moniker in Riverdale like it was in the Southside, “He’s an old boogeyman from when we were kids. His father basically made the Serpents what they are today. At the height of his father’s terrorizing, Clifford Blossom gave the police evidence to take the entire gang down. After Antonio, the Cleaner’s father, went down in a hail of bullets, the evidence went missing and FP took over. The Cleaner left a few years later.”

            Betty folded her arms over her chest and digested the story, brows furrowed, “So, the Cleaner is what? A hitman? What makes him any different than the men already after you?”

            Jughead lifted the seat of the folding chair, collapsing it and gathering his book as his stomach growled. He glanced up to look at Betty standing there, waiting for an answer, as the wind ruffled the skirt of her mustard yellow uniform. “What makes him different is he’s never failed at finding and ‘cleaning’ up the messes he’s hired to handle. What makes him different is that Blossom basically killed his father and yet, he’s still doing a job for him. Which means Blossom is desperate and offering enough money for the Cleaner to forget the past and take the job.”

            “Then that makes this ‘Cleaner’ equally as desperate, right?” She argued, dropping her arms and stepping too close to him for comfort. He could smell her shampoo and the light perfume she spritzed on herself every morning and it made him want to kiss her all over again as that flame of injustice burned in her jade eyes. “That could give us an advantage. We could beat him somehow and maybe as Blossom’s last resort fails, you could be free of all of this.”

            She was so hopeful, standing there on the roof of her apartment building, the wind blowing her ponytail and stray blonde strands into her face. He wanted to cup her cheek and pull her to him, to show her how she gave him hope even as his brain said her words were too optimistic and that Blossom would never give up. “Betty, I don’t think he’s going to give up unless I’m dead or he’s dead.” His words were soft, defeated.

            Her light brows pinched delicately together, “No, Juggie, don’t say that. We’ll figure this out.”

            “Will we?” He asked, frustrated, “How long will pretending to be your brother work? Did you even know you were followed home from work today?”

            Betty’s face paled, “What? By who?” She glanced around as though they were going to be attacked and he found himself reaching out to rest his hand on her shoulder.

            “Just Joaquin, but if he’s singling you out for no reason other than you might have been one of the last people to see me, who’s to say the Cleaner won’t do it, too?” Fear began to thrum through him as he imagined Joaquin’s brother torturing Betty for information and it made him nauseous. “I’m going to drive you to school and work from now on.” He decided out loud, nodding his head and daring her to dispute it.

            “But, then more people would see you…” She trailed off as he glared at her.

            “This is my fault, Betty, the least I can do is make sure you’re safe at every turn until I can finish this.” Though, he wasn’t entirely possible that was going to happen. Perhaps he should go back to the Serpents. There was safety in numbers.

            As though she read his mind, she interrupted his thoughts by saying, “Fine then, but where you go, I go. If you want to see your dad, or Joaquin to decide a plan, I'm going with you. I’m in this with you, Jug. We’re sticking together.” She glared defiantly at him, equally daring him to argue with her own demands.

            He growled just a bit, disliking how stubborn she could be when she set her mind to things, “Fine.”

            “Good.” She retorted, spinning on her heel and heading back down to the apartment. He watched her walk across the roof, shoulders thrown back, spine stiff, that ridiculous skirt swinging with her ponytail. It made him hot and cold at the same time. Wanting her and fearing her. In the span of a ten days, she’d become his sole source of hope in a future he hadn’t dared let himself imagine before she came along. Everyone had hollowly told him that this couldn’t go on forever, but Betty made him want to end it quickly. If only so he could…take her on a date.

            Heat rose up his cheeks as he lifted the folding chair and tucked the paperback book in his back pocket. Slowly, a few feet behind her, he followed. He was pretty sure he’d follow her anywhere at this point.   

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> The book Jughead's reading is Born of Night by Sherrilyn Kenyon. I'm thinking a week for the next update since I have another big assignment due this weekend that I haven't started, yet! A million thanks and hearts to everyone who is enjoying this story and those who have commented! I'm so tickled when I get the emails of what you guys think!


	8. Way Beyond

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> “The animals break out their cages, now chaos is raining down around us. But here we stand with our arms folded. Do you wanna be free of this?” – Way Beyond by Bastille

            She was working the mid-shift on Wednesday, just past noon, when the bell chimed a new patron and she looked up from where she was making a strawberry milkshake. As her eyes landed on the stranger, the small hairs on the back of her neck stood up and she nearly dropped the glass in her hand as she took in the lethal man standing just inside the diner, though she couldn’t pinpoint exactly what about his dark jeans and navy-blue turtleneck made him dangerous.

            Tall, over six feet, with a well-trimmed goatee, a bit of scruff on his cheeks and an air of wariness as he surveyed the set-up of booths much like Jughead had done the night he’d walked in, the man was a sight to see. He was older than her, at least thirty, and he looked as though he’d stepped off the cover of a dime store romance, with his broad shoulders and the olive-toned skin that suggested he had one or more parents of Latin descent, and when he pushed his sunglasses up into his soft, ebony hair…Betty realized she’d been stirring the milkshake too long but she was captivated. His blue eyes were uncanny in such a tanned face, but no less piercing and astute. They weren’t the breathtakingly light blue that Jughead possessed, but rather a darker blue. Like the unnerving, deep part of the ocean you didn’t want to tread for fear of what lay beneath the waves.

            She dropped her gaze the moment his eyes came around, ignoring him as she finished spraying the whipped cream topping and placed the cherry on top and then moved to deliver it to her table. “Take a seat and someone will be with you shortly.” She told him, smiling easily as she passed by, unable to be rude even though she was inwardly shivering with a strange mixture of emotions. Apprehension and fear, though she couldn’t say why he set these signals off inside her. Her gut wasn’t flipping with the dislike that accompanied men like Chuck Clayton from high school, but she was definitely aware that there was something innately alarming about him.

            He smiled, showing stark white teeth that were impossibly clean and even, making him more attractive than when he’d walked in, “Thank you.” His voice was a bit gravelly, but a deep octave that was pleasing to the ears. She didn’t want that sudden, easy going demeanor to placate her, but she was startled to find that it did.

            And of course, he sat in her section. She grabbed a menu and a roll of silverware and headed over after checking with her other tables. “Is there a drink I can start you with?” She asked, politely, stopping by his table near the window.

            “Just water for now. I’m waiting for my brother.” He responded, nodding as he accepted the menu and opened it up.

            She tipped her head to the side, “Does he live here in Riverdale? Maybe I know him?”

            He looked up at her through impossibly thick eyelashes, before he replied, “Well, we grew up in the Southside but now he’s in Riverdale. I’m not sure if you would…Joaquin DeSantos?” His voice lilting up at the end as he said his brothers’ name as a question.

            Betty lit up, a mental image of Kevin’s boyfriend immediately coming to mind, “Yes, Joaquin! He’s dating my friend Kevin.” She was suddenly less afraid of him and found herself leaning against the booth as she rambled, “I didn’t know he had a brother. He’s never said a word.” She tapped her lip lightly, “But, Joaquin is a bit more private than Kevin.”

            The man chuckled, “Yeah, Joaquin is ten years younger and I live over in Olean, now. There’s not much to tell.” His blue eyes fell onto her name tag, “Betty…that’s not a name you hear much anymore.”

            She dipped her head and rolled her eyes, “It’s all Liz, Lizzy or Beth now.” She agreed, “But, Betty suits me just fine. Let me go grab your water and a menu for Joaquin. It’s really nice to meet you…”

            He smiled again, this one not showing teeth but just the slightest dimple on his right cheek, “Carlos. It’s nice meeting you, Betty.”

            They shook hands, his much larger than her own but she noted the cool, black burnished wedding band on his hand before flouncing off to grab his water and the extra menu, stopping to grab the empty cup from a table along the way. She easily balanced the water, coke refill, and roll of silverware, the menu tucked under her arm as she headed back, depositing the coke at a table with a man just finishing his fries. She smiled and asked if he needed anything else.

            “Just the check.” He told her, not even glancing at her as he checked his watch, ash brown hair stringy and falling into eyes. She had a feeling that no matter how good of a waitress she was to him, he’d still leave her a shitty tip.

            Pulling out her notepad, she ripped off his bill and placed it face down, wishing for him to have a nice day and then turning to put Carlos’ water down in front of him as he commented, “Some people have no manners.” Looking pointedly at the booth with the rude man.

            “It never fails, I always get one of them a shift.” She told him lightly as the bell rang and they both looked up to see Joaquin entering, his eyes searching and falling on them quickly. “Hey, Joaquin. Just met your brother here.” She looked between the two, taking in the similarities and almost missing the flare of alarm on Joaquin’s face for the swiftest second before he covered it up. When she met his eyes again, he was smiling politely at her as he walked over and slid into the booth. Joaquin’s hair was longer, still wearing it to his chin even though Kevin had suggested on multiple occasions that he try a shorter cut.

            A shorter cut would surely make the resemblance between him and Carlos even more obvious, if the dark hair and blue eyes wasn’t enough. The other differences she could spot between the two brothers was a few inches, the shape of their smile, and Joaquin’s slightly leaner build.

            “Hey, Betty. How’ve you been?” He asked, voice so much lighter and softer than Carlos’, and maybe just a touch guilty as he avoided her gaze. Part of her wanted to mention him following her, to see how it would make him squirm, but another side of her whispered that saying something would only make him more inclined to think she was hiding Jughead and the need to protect him was more important than confronting Joaquin.

            Shrugging, she decided to play her cute, blonde card that usually made people underestimate her, “Good, though I miss movie night with you and Kev.”

            He gave her a half smile, “Stop working Saturday nights and we’ll gladly continue having you.” He looked like he regretted that comment as he glanced at his brother.

            Betty forced a carefree laugh, though she wondered how her life would be right now if she hadn’t been here the Saturday Jughead showed up. “Saturday night is when I make the big bucks.” She paused and met his eyes that were a few shades lighter than his brother’s, “Can I get you a drink to start with?”

            “Chocolate milkshake.” He said, automatically, causing Betty to smile as she remembered it was what he always got.

            “Coming right up!” She chirped, grinning at the siblings and leaving them to continue doing her job.

            She stopped to pick up the tip left from Rude Man and wasn’t surprised to find it was the change left over, barely a 3% tip, and she rolled her eyes as she took it to put it into the jar behind the counter for the staff tips. “Big tipper, that one.” She commented to Pop, who rolled his eyes and shook his head.

            “If he didn’t tip you well, Betty, there’s not a soul on Earth that could get more than that outta him.” The older man told her, kindly. Betty blushed, shaking her head at him as she put an extra cherry on Joaquin’s milkshake, stopping to give two more of her tables their checks and then sighing as she set down her friend’s drink.

            “Lunch rush is almost over.” She muttered to the two men, blowing a random strand of blonde hair out of her face as she pulled out her notepad, “Did you guys decide on food or did you need another minute?”

            “Two burgers and fries.” Carlos told her, ignoring Joaquin’s rolling eyes as he handed her back the menus.

            She quirked an eyebrow at Joaquin, “No onion rings?” She asked, bumping his shoulder lightly.

            Carlos turned to his brother, surprised, “You want onion rings, little brother?” The endearment rolled easily out of his mouth and the obvious affection made Betty miss her sister quite suddenly. Polly had come home the summer of her freshman year, but since then she’d become a permanent resident of New York City and she didn’t often come to visit. The last time Betty had seen Polly was when she’d graduated in December from Columbia, _summa cum laude_ of course, and then immediately enrolling in her Master’s program.

            Joaquin sighed, “Onion rings instead of fries, Betty.”

            Nodding, she beamed at them and took her leave. She half wanted to eavesdrop on Joaquin and Carlos’ hushed words, their quick back and forth making her think that perhaps they were arguing, but they spoke so low and stopped their conversation when she was even three feet nearby, that she found herself unable to pick up even a hint of their argument.

            After they ate, Joaquin stood up and excused himself to the bathroom, hiding in the small hallway until Betty walked by and reaching out to pull her into the small alcove. “Joaquin-” She muttered, irritated, but he cut her off.

            His blue eyes were serious as they met hers, “Carlos is a charmer, Betty. But, don’t get distracted by his bright colors and forget to pay attention. He’ll strike when you least expect it.” With those words, he dropped her arm and left. Not even bothering to wave to Carlos, simply storming out with a dark look on his face, leaving Carlos to pick up the bill.

            Betty hesitantly came over, catching the somber look on his face as he watched his brother peel out of the parking lot on his motorcycle, the advice still echoing in her mind even as she felt a touch of pity for the man, “Everything okay?” Betty queried.

            He turned dark blue eyes on her and forced a half smile, “Yeah, thanks, Betty. Just sibling squabble. May I get the check?”

            His politeness was so at odds with his brother’s warning and the lethality that seemed to run through his veins. There was a predatory way he moved as he stood up from the booth in one, graceful move, so much larger than her, and she gulped as she ripped his bill out of her pad and handed it to him.

            He smiled, quite suddenly, “You know, I met my wife in a little dive diner like this one.” He commented, reaching into his pocket for his money. “She was working to put herself through school.” Glancing at Betty, he handed her a bill, “You remind me of her and not just because she’s blonde.” He winked, “Keep the change, Betty, and have a nice day.”

            “Thanks, you too, Carlos.” She finally managed to say after he was already five feet away, reaching for the front door.

            He pulled it open, nodded one last time at her, and then left. She peered out through the window to see the car he was driving; she had a firm belief that she could tell a lot about a person depending on what they drove.

            Carlos slid into a sage green ’09 Subaru Forester, practical, dependable and family-friendly. The all-wheel drive vehicle coupled with the story of his wife were discordant with the aura he gave off and Betty was left feeling a bit shaken; unable to decide if she liked the man or if he terrified her. She glanced down at the bill in her hand, thinking he’d handed over a twenty, when in fact it was a fifty. It more than made up for the Rude Man’s shitty tip and she wasn’t sure how she felt about it as she rang out his order on the register and stuck the change into the tip jar.

            It was a strange day, that was for sure.

            When she got off work at ten to seven, she stepped out into the cool evening, the spring air refreshing as she glanced around for Jughead. His truck was still there, but her Buick was not.  She’d moved the F-150 one night when she worked late and no one was around, tucking it along the side of Pop’s, out of view of the front windows and back towards the woods that bordered the parking lot. She was a bit early getting off, so she decided to check on it, maybe start it up and make sure it was running right before Jughead got here.

            Crossing the parking lot, she opened the door and was about to slide in when she was grabbed from behind, the stranger snaking one arm around her throat another around her waist. She dropped her small purse to grip his arm, to fight him off, until he growled in her ear, “Don’t scream or I’ll cut your fucking throat.” The threat became more real when she felt the press of the cool metal of a knife at the base of her neck and then she was dragged around the truck and into the woods.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> I managed to get this written and my homework done AND half of the next chapter done. Therefore, I give you guys an early update! Yay! Thanks and love to everyone reading! <3 You guys are literally why I keep writing!


	9. Hold Me Down

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> “My demons are begging me to open up my mouth. I need them, mechanically make the words come out.” -Hold Me Down by Halsey

            The arms around her tightened to the point she saw black spots dance across her vision as the man nearly cut off her air supply. Gasping, she dug at his arm with nails used to cutting through skin until he threw her unceremoniously to the ground, her skin pricked by the bed of sharp pine needles as she rolled over to see her attacker’s face. But, he was standing just out of the light from Pop Tate’s large, neon sign and she couldn’t get a clear view of his face.  

            “’Saturdays are when I make the big bucks.’” He sneered at her, quoting her own words back at her as she tried to push herself to her feet. “Stay down, bitch.” His foot came down on her chest, forcing her down and pinning her, not quite using his full weight but with enough pressure to cause her to panic about being able to take a full breath. “Did you kill him, then? Have you gotten the money for his head? You were the last to see him and if you have that fucking beanie everyone talks about, it’s mine! You hear me?!” His voice was low, growly, unfamiliar and half-crazed. It scared her. Was this the Cleaner?

            She didn’t understand why he was spilling all of this on her, the only reasoning she could manage as she looked up at him was because he wasn’t going to let her go alive. “What are you talking about?” She bit out, squinting to try to catch a glimpse of any feature she might recognize. How did he know about her conversation with Joaquin? Unless, he was there? In the diner?

            Dark hair was all she could see as he removed his foot and kneeled closer to her, his breath smelling awful as he sneered the words quietly, “Don’t play the dumb blonde schtick. Jones was here two Saturdays ago and you’re the last person to see him alive. And you’re mighty attentive to that truck. Either you killed him and collected the reward or you’re hiding him.” His knife pressed to her neck, “You gotta mighty nice apartment for a waitress.”

            Betty wasn’t helpless, she knew some moves and she was a cheerleader for three years. She wondered how deep that knife would go if she kicked him…headlights cut through the trees, shining a light onto the man and making her gasp as she recognized him. “You!” She jerked her leg up and back towards her, catching him in the side of the head with her shin and he dropped the knife as he fell over just above her head.

            “BETTY!” She distantly heard Jughead’s yell, rolling away from the man who’d given her a shitty tip earlier, Rude Man, and scrambling to get as far from him and his knife as possible.

            “Fucking bitch.” He cursed, reaching for the knife and standing to lunge at her right as Jughead broke through the thick underbrush and tackled him.

            She sat up as Jughead disarmed him with the grace of a skilled fighter, quickly flipping him over and pinning his arms behind his back. Her mouth dropped open at the strength in him, at the stunning fluid motions as he restrained the man’s hands with one knee as he lifted the man’s head, and in one swift blow against the ground sent him into unconsciousness.

            Jughead was barely breathing heavy; it was Betty’s fast breaths that echoed around them as he sat there, still on top of the man, for a moment before turning to look at her. His golden hair glowed in the shadows, and though she hated his hair and mourned the dark tresses, she felt relief that he’d gotten there before anything happened.

            And awe at watching him take down the man.

            “Are you alright, Betty?” He asked, voice cracking as though he couldn’t stomach the thought of her being hurt because of him. She wanted to go over to him, to soothe him as she had through the nightmare, the popcorn, and the car backfire.

            But she needed a minute to herself. Her mind was still catching up to everything that had just happened. Because, even though she still wanted to help Jughead, to free him from all of this, the danger surrounding her hadn’t smacked her in the face until now. This sort of traumatic thing happened to Jughead so many times and no wonder he jumped at every noise. She’d just been dragged into the woods and probably killed if Jughead hadn’t started driving her everywhere.

            A man had literally held a knife to her throat. Claimed she was capable of killing another human being and he’d been ready to kill her for the money she ‘collected’. “I’m alright, Juggie.” She finally wheezed out, though she wasn’t entirely sure if that was true. Panic wanted to claw into her, but she was trying desperately to press it down. To not fall apart.

She lifted her hand to her throat, vividly recalling the cool steel on there just moments ago, to make sure there wasn’t any long-term damage done. When she pulled her hand away, there was blood. “Juggie?” It was her turn for her voice to crack, half a sob breaking out as she stared down at the thick, red liquid smeared across her palm.

            He heard the fear and he was across the space between them in two long strides, cupping her chin and lightly tilting it, angling it so he could see by the light of the diner. “Just a small nick.” He whispered, his voice deep and full of relief as they stayed there on the ground, Betty’s legs tucked back to the side, Jughead kneeling in front of her. He swallowed, his eyes, the light blue of early morning sky, trained on the small cut and she closed her eyes as her own relief washed over her.

            She opened them as she felt the softest brush of his skin, eyes widening as he pulled back with a dot of red on his lips, “Let’s get you home.” He murmured, avoiding her gaze.

            Before she could move, he scooped her up easily and strode back to where the Buick was still running, close to his truck. The headlights were trained on the open driver’s side door of the F-150 and her purse was still laying on the ground. Somehow, he managed to open the passenger door of her car while still cradling her and tucked her carefully inside.

            Betty stayed there, unmoving, her eyes lazily following his movements as she watched him stoop down in the headlights and pick up her purse, close the truck door, and then get in the driver’s seat.

            “Shouldn’t we call the cops or something?” She questioned, though at this point she found her ability to care very low.

            Jughead looked at her from the corner of his eye, “And tell them what? That you were attacked by a guy after me? Hired by a man in jail? Me, who is not the brother you’ve been claiming all week, but just Jughead Jones with a dye job? I don’t have any identification that would back up our claims. It would be too messy to go to the police. Let him come after you again…I’ll be fucking waiting for him.” His speech was angry, though she knew it wasn’t directed at her, and everything he said made sense.

            She didn’t reply, only laid her head against the cool glass of her window and let her mind shut down as the hum of the vehicle lulled her. Shock numbing her limbs as some part of her, the cowardly part, was whispering to get out while she could. It told her this wasn’t her fight, that this could only end badly. What the hell could she, Betty Cooper, auto mechanic student and waitress, do against a power as unstoppable as Clifford Blossom? What means did she have to save Jughead’s life that he couldn’t get from a _gang_?

            As logical as that cowardly part sounded, her more stubborn half-the stronger half-never listened to that part, not in the past and certainly not now. Even with the blatant spectacle that just happened-a common occurrence in the last five years of Jughead’s life-she would not listen to that voice. It didn’t matter that they didn’t have a plan, yet. She could think of something, she _would_ think of something.

            But, not right now. Right now, her body felt like a strangers’ and the headlights from the cars behind her made her as nervous and jumpy as Jughead was the first night she brought him home. Only now, they’d switched places.

            “Shhh, no one’s following us.” He murmured, breaking the silence of the car as she jumped at a car pulling out of a side street behind them.

            “Was that the Cleaner?” She asked, tentatively, wondering if she really wanted to know the answer to the question.

            He shook his head, “No. The Cleaner is a force unto himself. Tall, dark, and dangerous. He’s got a rope burn scar around his neck and devil blue eyes.”

            She snorted, “You make him sound like a monster.”

            Jughead passed her an unreadable look across the dark interior of the car, “He wasn’t called one of the Boogeymen of Riverdale for nothing, Betty.”

            “You called him that Monday. What does that mean?” It felt like he was talking in riddles, the way he spoke so hushed about the Cleaner and the ‘Boogeymen’.

            He sighed and she glanced over in time to watch him suck in his cheek and nibble on it as he pulled into the parking lot of her apartment building. He parked the car before he responded, “Nobody talks about that dark period of Riverdale, Betty. I only learned about it after staying with so many Serpents for five years.” He got out of the car and came around to open her door, letting her stand but taking her hand in his. She glanced down, wondering if he forgot that he was supposed to be playing the part of her brother, but liking the feel of his calloused hand in hers as he continued, “I already told you that the Cleaner’s father ran the Serpents. He was the leader for ten years, at least. There’s some speculation that Clifford Blossom put him in place so they could run a drug operation. The Cleaner was raised in that lifestyle, the humanity sucked out of him from a young age as his father bred him to be what he eventually became. The hate for the Serpents we see now is a direct cause of their time running the gang; bullying business owners and digging up secrets to use as blackmail. Scare tactics, the like.”

            They both waved to the security guard at the front, who was used to seeing them and so waved them in, and they got on the elevator as Betty digested all of this, “FP runs it differently?”

            Jughead nodded, squeezing her hand lightly as the elevator opened and he glanced up and down the hallway before leading her out and down the hallway to her door, “Yeah. He stopped the drug operation in its tracks, they only deal in marijuana now. Another reason for Clifford’s hate. He lost out on a lot of money, but it was his fault Antonio, the previous leader, got gunned down.” He shrugged as he let go of her hand to unlock the door. She could see his muscles visibly relax as he shut the door behind her and checked the bathroom, kitchen, and her bedroom. It was becoming a normal thing, to have him there checking the nooks and crannies for any threats. In the beginning, it had made her roll her eyes and shake her head.

            Now, she felt safe and comforted by his actions.

            “Do you want me to make you anything?” He asked, stepping in front of her and looking down at her anxiously. He raised his hands as though to rub her shoulders, but stopped mid-rise and then dropped them.

            She swallowed, “Tea?”

            He nodded, leaving her there in the living room to put the water on. Left alone, she wrapped her arms around her middle and moved restlessly around the room, taking comfort in the familiar. She reached out to brush the metal leaves of the flower sculpture she’d made out of car parts, a project she’d worked on in her introductory courses when they covered the things she already knew from working on cars with her father.

            “I meant to ask what the hell that thing was.” Jughead’s voice was soft, but dry with humor, attempting to turn her thoughts from the night and get a smile out of her.

            His words caused a half-smile to lift the corner of her mouth, “Car part flower sculpture by Betty Cooper.” She responded, “I’ve been working on cars with my dad since I was a kid. The first couple semesters at RCC were stuff I already knew, so I took to building parts of it in class with what I’d found at a junkyard in Greendale. As long as I was handling car parts and acing my tests, the professor didn’t care that I wasn’t paying attention to the lectures.”

             A small smile played around the edges of his mouth, “And the one in your room?”

            She felt a blush creep up her cheeks at the thought of him in her room, “That one is more abstract...and then I fanangled it into a lamp.”

            “What can’t you do, Betty Cooper?” His voice was deep, awed, and then he turned back to the kitchen as the electric tea kettle finished boiling. “Green or Lady Grey?” He called out.

            “Lady Grey.” She answered, immediately.

            He brought in the cup of tea a few minutes later, her first aid kit that had gotten a lot of use lately tucked under his arm, “What happened to Earl Grey?” He inquired as she took the cup and sat on the couch that was his bed.

            While she sipped at her tea, he pulled out an alcohol wipe and she tilted her head for him to clean the nick from the knife, shrugging lightly when he was done, “Lady Grey poisoned his tea.”

            He chuckled, but then seemed to sober, “Are you really alright, Betty?” He lifted her free arm to look for any other cuts to clean.

            “No.” She said simply, avoiding his eyes, “But, I will be, Juggie.”

            She could feel his eyes on her, watching her as he closed the first aid kit, before he turned his head away and his words came out low and ashamed, “I can leave. Tonight…it was my fault. I’m sorry, Betts.”

            Jughead moved to stand, but she grabbed his arm, “Jughead, it’s _not_ your fault.” Her words and her hand on his arm brought his head swinging back around and she met his gaze steadily, as her temper rose from the fear, “Everything that’s happened to you, everything that’s shitty and fucked up, that’s brought us here together, now, it’s all Clifford Blossom’s fault and I don’t have a plan, yet, but I’m going to figure this out. Just…” He looked taken aback by her swear words, a habit she’d picked up from the fifteen men who were in her auto mechanic classes, and she sighed away the fury that petered out as suddenly as it came, leaving only exhaustion in its place, “Just let me sleep on it.”

            She stood up, but didn’t let go of him, “Actually…”

            He raised an eyebrow at her, still mulling over her words, “Yeah?” He queried, tilting his head to look up at her.

            Nibbling on her lip, she turned from his piercing eyes and asked, very softly, “Do you mind, um, just staying with me till I fall asleep?”

            Every muscle in his body tensed and she could feel those Caribbean blue eyes searching her face before she caught the slight nod of his head in her peripheral. “I can do that.”

            Betty relaxed, “Alright, let me change.”

            He nodded mutely, and she wondered if her request was too much, if perhaps he didn’t want to do it and was only being polite. She fretted over it as she changed into comfortable clothes, knowing it was a little early to be going to bed, but feeling exhausted by everything. She opened her mouth as she opened her bedroom door, about to tell him not to worry about staying with her if he didn’t want to, but the second she opened it, he came right over.

            “Juggie…” She started, swallowing a lump of nerves as she took in his change of clothes. He’d dressed swiftly into a pair of blue flannel pjs and a grey t-shirt, “You’re…hovering.” She finished, lamely, staring up at him as he stood there in her doorway. She didn’t want to give him the chance to back out, she didn’t think she could sleep alone tonight.

            Ducking his head, he rubbed the back of his neck, “I’m sorry…it’s just, you’re being fairly casual. After my first attack, I couldn’t sleep for a week.”

            He’d never talked about any of the past attacks, except the one that forced him out of the Serpents. She took his hand and led him over to her bed, “What happened?” She asked, snuggling under the covers and lifting up the blanket for him to crawl under. He put his hand on hers and pressed the blankets down, getting on top of the comforter rather than beneath them. Betty hid her pout, but hunkered down and looked up at him as she waited patiently for him to answer.

            “Uh, I was sixteen? Walking home from school when he snuck up behind me and pressed the barrel of a gun to my temple.” He looked uneasy talking about it as he figured out how he wanted to lay next to her, finally settling on his side and she turned on hers so they were lying face-to-face.

            Her eyes skimmed across his face, taking in the differences from the night she brought him home-though thinking of it like that made her think of his puppy comment. The bags that were under his eyes that night in Pop’s were almost imperceptible now, and he looked younger, face fuller from the steady meals, and relaxed here in her bed with her. She wanted to reach out and trace the three freckles, two on his cheek and one on his neck, that made a right triangle. “How did you survive?” She whispered, his eyes a watercolor blue at the memory of that first man.

            His mouth quirked up in that sardonic smile he’d worn throughout middle school and high school. The smile that he used to mock others and keep them away, so he couldn’t get hurt. “I wish I could tell you I used martial arts and took him out before he could kill me.” The smile dropped and he just looked gloomy, “But, the guy realized I was just a kid, took pity on me and warned me off. I went home to FP, I transferred to South Side the next day, and then I was always on guard. The Serpents took turns teaching me, sheltering me, and once they even caught one of the men and…” He paused as though choosing his words, “…convinced him to spill everything. About who was after me and why.”

            She didn’t know what to say, the story reminding her of earlier, of her own first attack, and she wished with every part of her being that this could be the last…for both of them. “I’m sorry, Juggie.” She did reach out this time, lightly tracing the freckles she imagined tracing before. “You didn’t just break down right there, though. You made it home, you transferred schools and planned for something when you didn’t even know _why_ it was happening to you.” Betty sighed and shook her head, “At least I know why. And I have you.”

            Suddenly, he leaned forward and kissed her, as unexpectedly as the first time and just as sweet. But, the cherished way his lips touched hers was her breaking point and she pulled away as she felt the tears start to fall and a sob break free. “I’m sorry.” She said again, for what felt like the millionth time, as her whole body began to shake as she curled into herself and began to cry harder.

            She could feel him lying there, stiff and awkward and unsure how to comfort her because Betty was positive few had ever comforted him. Turning away from him so he wouldn’t feel any worse about the night, she let the sobs rack through her as her brain and body finally caught up to the night’s ordeal.

            After an entire minute of her crying, Jughead apparently made a decision and wrapped his arms around her. Surprised, Betty felt the sobs subside and slowly, she started to relax, the silence interrupted by a hiccup here and there. In less than ten minutes, she was asleep.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> This chapter got so long. Also, shout out to justcallmebbBarnes for calling out my Rude Man character. I felt so awkward replying to your comment when you totally guess it! :D 
> 
> If anyone wants to follow me on tumblr, my link is soulsofstarsliveinyourveins.tumblr.com I sometimes talk about the story and reblog Bughead stuff and also I put up a picture of the car part sculpture Betty and Jug talk about. :) Thanks to everyone who left comments and kudos! I adore each and every person who clicks on this story and reads it!!


	10. Heathens

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> “All my friends are heathens, take it slow. Wait for them to ask you who you know. Please don’t make any sudden moves. You don’t know the half of the abuse.” -Heathens by twenty one pilots

            Carlos watched from the darkest part of the woods along the left side of Pop’s as Jughead cradled Betty to his chest before depositing her into the old Buick. He was careful to stay in place, leaning against an ash tree so as not to be detected by the keen eyes as he observed the grown up, blonde version of the kid he remembered from ten years ago.

            Like Carlos, he’d changed drastically in the time span and not just because of the hair color. He remembered Jughead being a withdrawn, quiet kid, preferring to sit and write in a corner than join in with the crowds. But, the man before him now looked keyed up, weary, and hard as his blue eyes darted around the dark woods, waiting for a threat.

            He knew that hunted look all too well.

            The blonde hair had only given Carlos pause for a moment before he recognized him. However, if he hadn’t been expecting to catch Jughead with Betty, if he’d assumed this man was someone else, well, he wasn’t sure he would have known his real identity right away. Finding Jughead had been surprisingly easy, he mused silently as the slam of the truck door echoed in the quiet lot. Clearly, Betty was trying to hide him cleverly in plain sight and really, Carlos was chalking this event up to sheer dumb luck. But, it helped that with Joaquin’s comment about her working Saturdays, coupled with his findings about when Jughead was last seen and his gut instinct that the young blonde had something to do with it all…well, Carlos figured it wouldn’t have taken long to find him anyway.

            No one ever stayed hidden from Carlos for very long. It was an innate talent he’d always had, one his father noticed early on and was only too eager to manipulate.

            Sighing, Carlos pulled away from the tree and made his way quietly through the woods as Jughead and Betty pulled out of the parking lot. Finding Betty’s apartment would be easy enough once he set his mind to it, but he had other things to deal with tonight.

            “Bradley Barber.” His murmured the name softly as he circled the man he’d seen earlier at the diner, all but wrapped up with a neat bow, arms slack and pulled behind his back and unconscious thanks to Jughead. He crouched down, slipping a hand into the man’s pocket and pulling out his wallet. He rifled through the fake ID’s and cash until he found the slip of paper he was looking for.

            He read the scrawl a few times, the handwriting god awful and almost illegible, but it was what he needed. It was always best to know what price drove the others, to determine how many more he’d be up against in this twisted game. And to understand the guidelines they were following.

            _‘T.K. Slow & bloody. 1m. Proof: dc or obit. Client requests crown hat delivered before payment.’_

            Carlos nearly laughed aloud at the parameters. Clifford Blossom was surely going crazy if he wanted to keep the fucking hat Jughead used to wear growing up. T. K. stood for thrill kills, another sign of Blossom's growing dementia, as it allowed whoever took the kid out to be as bloody and savage as they wanted. If any of them got a hold of Jughead, chances are he’d be kept alive for a few days until he was begging for the sweet release of death.

            Pocketing the paper, Carlos sighed once more as he looked down at the man that was slowly waking up, tucking the wallet back in the man’s pocket as he talked, “Listen up, Bradley, we can do this the easy way or the hard way…” The man’s pupils weren’t focused, yet, but when they finally did, Carlos let his best, blood chilling smile stretch across his face, “Have you ever heard of the Cleaner?”

            It was surreal to say that line again, after all these year, but he found it tasted the same on his tongue then as it did now, like the sulfur of a match. When Bradley nodded, he let the smile get wider, more of a sneer than a grin, “Good. That will make this easy, because _I_ am the Cleaner and you know what just happened here tonight?” He didn’t give him the chance to reply, lashing out to grip the man by the throat as he bit out the words, “ _You_ almost ruined my hit and unless you want to be my next one, I suggest you beat it out of Riverdale and pass the word around to your _friends_.”

            He met the man’s eyes, wide and fearful as he gasped around the strong grip on his throat, no doubt his mind racing with the rumors of his moniker. “I’ll leave.” Bradley finally got out, eyes flickering over Carlos, who’d taken off his turtle neck earlier when he’d sensed he might need to use the intimidation tactic, and collapsed back as Carlos released him. Bradley’s hazel eyes snagged on the scar around his neck, catching on it and staring at the only real sign that Carlos wasn’t lying.

            Pulling out the Glock he’d tucked in at his back, using it to ensure the man’s fear sent him running, Carlos stood fiddling with it, checking the number of bullets, and clicking the safety off and on before tucking it back away as the blasé words rolled out of his mouth, “Good, because I haven’t killed anyone in a while and I’ve kinda missed the excitement of it all.” He turned and walked away, knowing his easiness with killing often made others very _un_ easy.

* * *

            When Jughead woke up the next morning, he was surprised once more to find that he’d slept soundly with someone beside him and more importantly, he hadn’t woken up when she’d left. He stared at the empty space beside him, the covers flung back and over him, and he was awash with her scent of strawberries that clung to the blankets and to the very walls of her room.

            He’d stayed up long after she’d fallen asleep, so he shouldn’t be surprised she was awake first, and by the sound of it, in the kitchen making breakfast. Sighing, he rubbed the sleep from his eyes and laid there for a few moments more, enjoying the soft mattress after so many years sleeping on couches and pull-out sofas. It helped, too, that it was Betty’s bed and the peace he felt around her was infused into the very springs.

            Some strange, small part of him never wanted to leave, wanted to bury himself in the blankets and mattress. It was the soft him, the boy who was fifteen with a crush on the pretty blonde who had a crush on his best friend. He’d thought that boy had died years ago, and was startled to find he hadn't. Only waking up in the days he spent here, with Betty Cooper, who was perhaps the most holy of humans to ever exist.

            If he was going to die, why couldn’t it be here?

            A soft knock brought him from the hopeless direction his thoughts had turned in the wake of finding himself in her bed, and the object of his affections peered around the door immediately drawing his eyes to hers, “Oh, good, you’re awake.” She hummed, smiling as she stepped inside. She was showered and dressed in a light wash pair of jeans and a dark green emerald sweater that looked so soft he had the urge to touch it. The tears from the night before were gone and the only hint of her being attacked was a small, red line that remained at the base of her throat, peeking out from the V-neck of her sweater. “I made a quiche and a few homemade donuts.”  Betty told him, walking over to sit on the side of the bed.

            He’d noticed she tended to bake a lot when she had things plaguing her mind. Which was a nice balance to his ability to eat everything. “Don’t you have class today?” He asked, sitting up as she sat down on the bed, glancing over at the bedside clock that read 11:18 am.

            She waved her hand, “I’m skipping today. I woke up this morning and I knew I was close to a solution for you. So, I started cooking and suddenly, I knew exactly what we needed to do.” There was an underlying excitement in that last sentence.

            However, his brows furrowed, concerned about that first sentence more than about his dark future and her wild plans, “Betty, you shouldn’t be skipping class to work on my problems.” He let the words out, coloring them in a dryness that hid how much it bothered him that everything about his life was currently disrupting hers. Jughead didn’t even want to think about what could have happened last night if he hadn’t shown up. If he hadn’t started driving her to and from work. He’d have lost her. It was enough to shallow his breath and cause a panic to thrum up his spine.

            What if it had been the Cleaner and not some idiotic hitman?

            Betty moved closer, catching his gaze, brows mirroring his own as they wrinkled, “Juggie, I’m fine.” It was like she knew where his thoughts had gone and she reached out and cupped his jaw, trying to bring him back, “I know what happened last night was scary. But, I’m not going to let that stop me. I have a plan and I really think it could work.”

            He didn’t like how close she was because it reminded him of last night’s awful kiss that caused her to cry, so he pulled out of her reach and stood up from the bed, putting much needed distance between them. “What’s the plan?” He asked, half-heartedly. If they hadn’t thought of a plan by now, he didn’t really think there could be one, but the excitement that still ran underneath her determination gave him a touch of hope. Her long-lost brother plan worked, didn’t it?

            “The plan, dear Juggie, is simple. We find out the conditions of your death and fake it.” Betty was standing, now, arms crossed and looking smug with herself.

            Jughead mirrored her stance, crossing his own arms as he looked to challenge it, “You don’t think I tried that in the beginning, Betty? The Serpents paid good money to one of the guys to tell Blossom I was dead. It never worked.”

            “Then there’s a reason it didn’t work! Maybe the guy took the money and ran? Maybe Blossom needs proof, like an _obituary_? You haven’t forgotten that my father owns the town’s only newspaper. It’s morbid, but we could print you up a fake one and send it to Clifford. Maybe with one of the Serpents we trust, collect the money and start a new life for you?” She was pacing around the room as she rattled off the details, looking like her brain was running through forty different wires of thought as she tried to reason with him.

            But, god did he love watching her, awed at her mind and her brilliance. She looked like an Angel of Justice, readying to fight for him, a mere human. Not much more than trash to most people, a member of a gang, _a Serpent_. The lowest of the low.

            Betty never made him feel like that. It wasn’t even just because they’d been childhood friends. She was just so _good_.

            “I think…” She paused, jarring him from his thoughts, “I think I should go see your father. Talk to him, find out the details on your hit and find a way to manipulate Blossom. Fake your death, claim Blossoms’ dirty money and save you.” She crossed the room, forcing herself into his space and looking up at him imploringly with wide, green eyes that could provoke him to start writing poetry-if he was that fifteen-year-old boy again.

            His arms were still crossed, a wall to keep her back, but he found himself dropping them as she closed in on his space, “Why do we have to see him? Why don’t I just call Joaquin and ask him to look into it for me?” He didn’t like the thought of her going to the Whyte Wyrm with no protection. If he could skip her being in the very heart of Serpent territory, it would make him feel better, “You know, they invented these things called cell phones.” He added, dryly.

            She nibbled on her bottom lip and he was so close to her that he thought for a brief second that he could nibble on that lip for her. He bit his cheek to bring him away from that thought, reminding himself for the umpteenth time of the last, disastrous kiss, as she finally spoke, “Because then I don’t feel like we’re _doing_ anything. Leaving it up to others. We should be out there, not sitting ducks.”

            “The more we’re out there, the easier it will be for the Cleaner to find me.” He pointed out, trying to talk her out of going to see his father. Her plan was good, but why did they need to go back to the Serpents? Betty didn’t understand the danger the Cleaner was, couldn’t imagine the horrors he’d committed, even after everything Jughead had told her. He could see it on her face as she wavered between what she wanted to do and what would protect him.

            “Then I’ll go see your father. Or maybe Joaquin…I mean, I saw him yesterday. It wouldn’t be out of the ordinary if I called him up?”

            She looked thoughtful, not realizing right away that her innocuous comment caught his attention completely. “When did you see Joaquin?” He wasn’t sure Joaquin _hadn’t_ heard her voice on the phone, but if Joaquin was hanging around her than maybe that was a sign he did hear.

            She tilted her head at his biting question, “He was at the diner for lunch. Did you know he has an older brother?”

            Jughead could barely breath at her question; his entire body tensing immediately, realizing he hadn’t mentioned one crucial detail that rarely crossed his mind due to the fact that he tried not to associate his best friend with such a monster, “Y-you met…” He couldn’t get the words out and he pressed back against the wall, the horror of her being in the diner and interacting with the Cleaner in her adorable, happy waitress way made him suddenly very nauseous.

            Betty was reaching out, grabbing onto his elbow and raking her other hand through his hair and down his neck to his shoulder, “Jughead, what’s wrong?”

            She was too innocent to get into this mess, too pure to be dragged down into the dark, bloody underbelly of Riverdale. Already, she had been too close to the Cleaner than he ever would have wanted her, “Betty, Joaquin’s brother…” Her face was too sweet, tilted up at him and looking at him expectantly, “is the Cleaner.”

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> I'm sorry this took so long! And I haven't gotten to reply to everyone who has commented because I'm trying to work on a literature review for my online class and I just took a break from it to finish and post this! Thank you to everyone reading, commenting, and leaving kudos!


	11. Rainbow

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> “What’s left of my heart’s still made of gold and I know that I’m still fucked up. But, aren’t we all, my love? Darling, our scars make us who we are.” -Rainbow by Kesha

           They rode silently in the car, Jughead focusing on the delicious plate of homemade donuts in his lap to avoid looking at the blonde beside him. He could hear her tapping her left foot, could see her knuckles clenched white around the steering wheel out of the corner of his eye, could feel the palpable tension in the Buick. He did not need to look at her to know that strain painted itself along her neck and shoulders as well.

            But, _god_ , he wanted to look at her. Mostly because he found that, in the days they spent in such close proximity he loved to. Betty was a rare creature that was as genuine in her expressions as she was with everything else about her. She was beautiful, of course, but the true beauty was that it went down to the depths of her soul and that magnified who she was a thousand times over. It was sometimes hard for him to wrap his mind around the fact that she was on his team.

           Yet, he didn’t look at her for fear his heavy, concerned gaze would only make her more agitated and he hated how his news caused this tightened, rubber band between them. Back in the apartment, not even ten minutes ago, she’d blinked up at him for at least a full minute as his words about the Cleaner sank in. She’d looked so thrown, so taken off guard, that he wondered what the Cleaner looked like now. Did he still look too thin, with that gaunt face that Jughead saw in his nightmares occasionally? Was his head still shaved bald so that when he did his father’s business, he never left DNA on the scene?

            Jughead had inwardly shivered at the memory of the man, but was then startled from it when Betty had stumbled away from him, mumbling something about a Subaru and leaving to see her dad. He’d followed her to the front door, pressing her, asking her to talk to him, to let him in. Her reaction made him worry something could have happened yesterday when she’d met the boogie man from his childhood.

            She’d stayed stubbornly closed mouth about it all. Frustrated, he’d told her he was going wherever she was going and he wasn’t taking no for an answer.

            Always thinking of his needs before even he thought about them, she’d told him to grab the plate of donuts and to come if he was going to insist. So, he had done just that and here they were…

            Driving past the Register and crossing to the Southside of town, apparently. “Um, Betty?” He mumbled around a donut, pointing back towards Riverdale. She’d mentioned her father had sold her childhood home, but he didn’t think Hal Cooper would move to this side of town.

            Her shoulders tightened even more and her green eyes flashed briefly with anger, even though it didn’t seem to be directed at him, “I know, Juggie, but I lied, okay? I’m going to the Whyte Wyrm. I need to talk to FP.” The words were cutting and defensive, making his heart fall as he took in the familiar, flashing scenery outside his window.

            All at once and seemingly for the first time in a long time, he lost his appetite. The donuts, once sugary and scrumptious, turned to ash in his mouth and he found it hard to swallow the bite in he’d just taken. Setting the plate on the floor, he sighed heavily and pulled his beanie from his back pocket. He stared down at it for a second, at where Betty had sown the two holes up, and felt a deep resignation fall over him.

            She could sew up the bullet holes that reminded him of his brush with death on multiple occasions, but he wasn’t sure visiting FP would fix this mess. He wanted to believe in her idea but, how could he when every step she took to save him led her deeper into danger? He didn’t want things to come down to her or him.

            Jughead knew, without a shadow of a doubt, who he’d choose.

            He clenched his jaw and shoved the beanie on his head, letting it be the barrier between his head and the window as he leaned against it and finally turned to gaze at her. The longer he stared at her, the more she squared her shoulders and sat up straighter in her seat. “Is there anything I need to know before I go in?” She asked, making a left at the light and then an immediate right into the parking lot behind the bar.

            “Yeah, you’re not going in alone.” He muttered, the words hard and dry as he inwardly reached for the rough and tough Serpent he’d been for five years. He slipped the persona on as easily as a leather jacket as he turned wary eyes to the bar he’d spent more time than he wanted in.

            “Jug?” Her words stopped him as he reached for the door handle. He turned to look at her, her green eyes trained on the hat atop his head, “Can you leave the beanie in here?”

            He swallowed the lump in his throat from the depth of concern on her features, “Fine.” Reaching up, he pulled the hat off, dropping it on the center console and only half missing the security of it. The other half of himself hated how much he’d taken comfort in it all these years when it only ever brought him trouble.

            At one point in his life, he would have sworn it brought him good luck.

            That luck changed rapidly after Clifford Blossom went to jail. Now, it felt more like a curse than anything; he often took it off when he was around strangers. His description matched fifty other guys around his age if he wasn’t wearing the one article unique to him.

            But, wearing it was such a habit, such a soothing gesture that brought him back to his younger, more innocent days, that he didn’t think he could ever really give up the thing completely.

            Sighing, he opened the door and met Betty at the hood of the Buick. She wore a soft, brown leather jack over her sweater, so at odds with the cracked, rough looking black jackets that were emblazoned with the double headed Serpent symbol. Her hair was down, as she seemed to like it on days she wasn’t at work or school, and there was a stubborn tilt to her lips as she gazed at the biker bar.

            Jughead’s ears caught the scuff of boots on the crunching gravel in the parking lot and he looked around for the source as Betty headed determinedly towards the front of the bar. He didn’t catch sight of anyone and he felt the hairs on the back of his neck rise as he moved to reach her side. He took her hand without thinking, squeezing it lightly as she gripped the handle of the door.

            Dropping her hand, he caught the door as she swung it open and held it for her to enter first, “Are you sure about this?” He whispered one last time as she paused just inside.

            She turned her head back to look at him, the darkness of the interior of the bar almost swallowing her form, “Let me handle this.” She replied, the confidence in her tone placating him for a split second before she disappeared inside and he was hit with how reckless that confidence could make her.

            He hurried in after her, nearly colliding with her as she stopped at the end of the hallway and observed the men inside. At this time of day, most of the patrons were older Serpents, the alcoholics and the ones there because they were in-between jobs or just looking for a meal. The jukebox was playing, but the volume was lower than a Friday night and most of the men didn’t even bother looking up.

            Except for one of the alcoholics at the bar, Jughead thought briefly and sourly, his profile to them as he finished his beer and then set it down as his head swung around to look at them with dark eyes. Jughead swallowed, but FP didn’t spare him a glance at first, his gaze held solely on Betty’s pale hair in the smoky bar, and for a moment his eyes flashed with emotion before he stood from his stool and headed towards them.

            “Betty Cooper.” He drawled, his gaze sharpening as he got closer, no signs of drunkenness. Jughead took that as a good omen. FP’s eyes flickered over Betty and then briefly to Jughead’s blonde hair, “And her brother, Aaron, right? The talk of the town.” His eyes moved from the hair to Jughead’s face and he did a decidedly humorous double take and then swore. “Turn around, now, and go into the door on the left.” FP ordered, stepping into their space and all but herding them away from the bar and to the door he indicated, “What the hell are you bringing him here for?” He chastised Betty, “I thought you had more sense, girl.”

            The room was one Jughead knew well, a small office that FP liked to use on occasion. The door had a two-way mirror to view the people who came in and out of the Whyte Wyrm and, most didn’t know it, a secret trap door down to the basement. It was only a bit bigger than a closet, but he’d managed to squeeze a desk and chair inside to make it the official ‘office’ he claimed it as.

            “He didn’t know I was coming here and he insisted on accompanying me.” Betty’s prim words were so at odds with their surroundings and FP’s informal speech that it was enough to pull at the corner of Jug’s mouth as they continued to talk as though he wasn’t here, “And how did you know he was with me?”

            FP was shaking his head before she even finished the sentence, “I’ve known you since you were five years old, Betty. If you saw Jughead in need, you were there in seconds, flat.” He paused and glanced at Jughead, “I know I haven’t been the best father, but I knew what kind of friends he had in Riverdale.”

            Those words melted the ire Jughead was holding against his dad as it simultaneously riled up Betty, “Yet, you took him from those friends who would have protected him and instead let him tarnish here in the Serpents care.”

            FP looked briefly amused, “Tarnish? Like what silver does?”

            Jughead leaned against the desk, content to watch the two instead of interfering. Betty glared at his father, her green eyes ablaze with that righteous anger he loved seeing in her, “Exactly. Five years surrounded by Serpents protecting him, but no one actually _caring_. That’s why silver tarnishes, because it’s neglected.”

            He tried not to react to those words as much as his brain snagged on them and held on, tucking it away mentally to look at later. His father was already replying to her statement, ire growing and humor dimming as they sparred, “We kept him alive, Miss Cooper.” FP defended, “I put my men in jeopardy to keep Jughead safe.”

            Betty didn’t back down, “And when the going got tough? You kicked him out? Guess the loyalty that the Serpents were known for died with Chic, huh?”

            The taunt and the unknown name made Jughead stand as FP stepped back from Betty and folded his arms, his face darkening in a mingle of grief and anger, “Serpents will always be loyal.”

            She scoffed, “Sure, except when it counts. When your son is in mortal danger and-why has it been five whole years? Why hasn’t anyone done anything to stop this?”

            FP let out a disbelieving huff, his eyes the same dark bourbon as JB’s meeting Jugheads’ as he looked for support, “Jug, you know we tried everything. We funneled money the gang couldn’t spare to get Blossom off your back…” Suddenly, FP looked defeated and more emotional than Jughead had ever seen him with only one beer, “I didn’t want this for you, kid. If I’d known he’d go this crazy, I woulda just cleaned the body up and dumped it in the river a few months later.”

            Jughead wondered what would have happened if that had been the case, where he’d be now and how different things would be. Would he and Archie still be friends? Would Archie be with Betty instead of Alice? How many things would be better if Clifford Blossom hadn’t gone to jail for the murder of his son?

            “Betty.” Jughead finally spoke, breaking between the two before they could resume squabbling, “Let it go, please? He did the best he could. It was no Cooper solution, but it’s what he could manage.” He met his father’s eyes, “I know, Dad. I know you didn’t want this. Neither do I, but it’s what I’ve been dealt. Just listen to Betty’s plan and see if there’s anything the Serpents can do to help.”

            FP studied him for a long moment before turning to the fiery blonde and looking at her expectantly, “Well, what’s the plan, Miss Cooper?”

            Betty glanced at Jughead, her eyes flicking over his face before she nodded once and then began to fill in FP.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> OMG! I'm so sorry for the long wait!! I really did not mean for it to take an entire month. I had the majority of it written with Betty going to see FP by herself, but that didn't feel right so I scrapped it and re-started and then I couldn't get anywhere and then-FINALLY-I just re-wrote the entire chapter in Jughead's perspective. I'm really sorry, but thank you so much for sticking the wait out! I know I made promises before scrapping everything I had, so I apologize for hyping up a kiss that didn't make it in and for overselling when this darn chapter would be up. 
> 
> Every time I set a date to have it done, something came up. Such is life, though.  
> So much love to everyone reading and commenting!! I love you all and if I haven't replied to your comment, I promise to get to it! Sorry for the long a/n!


	12. Emperor's New Clothes

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> "I'm taking back the crown…I see what's mine and take it (finders keepers, losers weepers) Oh oh, yeah the crown, so close I can taste it…" -Emperor's New Clothes by Panic! At the Disco

           FP was silent as she explained the plan to find out the details of Jughead's hit and to work with her father and his newspaper to make it real. To make it believable enough to call off Clifford Blossom's relentless men and to perhaps even have someone cash in the contract. Use the money towards rebuilding Jughead's life.

           She tried not to notice the air of hopelessness that hung around him, so much like Jughead that she almost felt bad for railing at him about the last five years. Almost…but, as she talked, FP started to straighten up, his face turning thoughtful as his dark eyes turned a touch hazy as he pondered her plan. He rubbed a hand over his chin, the scruff of not shaving a few days making a low scratching noise in the quiet of the small room. She glanced towards Jughead, who was watching her, and was startled by the underlying trust. Even after she'd lied about where she was going, he was here. He was trusting her and this plan of hers, even with his life on the line.

           Suddenly, she was blinking her eyes rapidly to clear the moisture that filled them. She didn't have time to fall apart, not when the storm was only just beginning to swell. She needed to adjust her sails, square her shoulders, and find a way to get them out of it.

           "That's…probably the best idea anyone around here's had in a while. I mean, we've tried to fake it before, but all we had to go on was what that one punk hitman told us, and to be honest I didn't really trust the rat. He took our money and ran, nearly shut the club down with that mistake." FP finally told them, dropping his hand and stuffing it into the pocket of his Serpent jacket as he admitted defeat in their previous attempt, confirming her theory when her and Jughead argued about it earlier that morning.

           His dark eyes sharpened as he asked, "Is Hal really onboard with this?"

           Betty nodded as Jughead looked at her, his face questioning, "My dad hates Blossom, he'd do whatever he can to help…but, we're going there next. To fill him in on everything." She let the sheepish smile pull the corner of her mouth as she admitted Hal Cooper didn't know quite yet about everything.

           "Well, you get things with him squared away and I'll get that info for you. We'll meet up at the Register tomorrow night, that should give me time." FP passed a look at Jughead, "And then the first thing we do when this plan works out is to dye your hair back. God, it looks like I had a kid with Alice Cooper." He shook his head, his face contorted like he was repulsed, but Betty noticed the sorrow buried deep below. Perhaps Alice Cooper had broken more than one heart here in Riverdale.

           Still, they all chuckled as the joke cut the tension in the room and Betty met Jughead's eyes as she shook her head, remembering that she'd said something similar when they'd first dyed his hair.

           When they exited the Whyte Wyrm a few minutes later, FP's promise to find out the details of Jug's hit still bolstering their mood, they were hit with the brilliant, afternoon sun as though they'd been kept underground. They both squinted as the rays poured over the Southside despite the fact that everything always had a grey, dismal cast to it.

           "Who's Chic?" Was Jughead's first question as they rounded the bar and crossed to the Buick.

           Betty knew it was coming before he even spoke. Her mother's story, a story Betty didn't get out of her father until months after Alice left Riverdale for the sunny, west coast, was waiting at the tip of her tongue for his question, "He was my Uncle, though I never met him." She told him, voice much more subdued outside of the Serpent's nest. "Once she ran off with Archie, I asked my dad a lot of questions about her past to figure out why she did it. She grew up on the Southside, her and Chic. He was older and got into the Serpent life. Ended up dead…Dad didn't really know the details, but it's probably why she strove to get out of that life. Why she pursued my dad and traded her leather jacket for aprons and the whole stepford wife persona." She rolled her eyes, words sardonic as she described the Alice she knew for the majority of her childhood. But, then she felt a wave of grief for her mother, because despite all the heartache and pain she'd caused, she had her own fair share of it in life, "She was going to name her son after him, but she got pregnant too young and my Dad convinced her to give him up for adoption."

           Somewhere in the middle of her story, they'd halted at the passenger side of the Buick, both turning their backs to lean against it, although they both knew hanging around this particular area wasn't the best idea. "And the name Aaron Wilson?" Jughead asked, smile hovering at the corner of his mouth.

           Betty giggled, "He was the other intern that summer I met Toni Morrison. He made the worst coffee, but his name sounded common enough to work for this situation."

           Jughead made a face, clearly disliking the thought of sharing a name with anyone who didn't know how to make a good cup of the bitter beverage he'd lived off since he was probably six years old. Or maybe it was the mention of the summer that altered his life. She wasn't positive until he finally muttered, "I think I like the name Chic better." Making Betty laugh again as she moved to go around to her side of the car.

           She was stopped, however, by his hand lightly grabbing her elbow. She looked up at him, questioning, when he met her gaze with a sober expression, "Betty…thank you." He pulled his cheek in to bite it as he decided on his next words, "If we make it out of this alive, I don't know if I'll ever be able to repay you for everything."

           Without thinking, she leaned up and brushed her lips along his cheek and whispered, "You'll thank me by living, Jughead Jones." She pulled back to gaze up at him through her eyelashes, watching his eyes darken into a stormy blue as he looked like he wanted to do more, grab her and kiss her perhaps, but he held himself back for some reason.

           He dropped her arm, allowing her to move to the driver side and slide in, reaching for her seatbelft as he was buckling his own and looking around for something.

           "What?" She asked, starting the car.

           Jughead did not look happy as he asked, "Did you lock the car?"

           She chuckled, "No, Juggie, no one wants anything to do with this rusted piece of junk." Shaking her head, she paused as she pulled the car around to exit the parking lot and then stopped to look at him as he opened the glove box and console. "What's missing?"

           He cursed when he found nothing, "My beanie is missing." He shook his head, and then paused to look thoughtfully at the floor, "And the plate of donuts."

           Pursing her lips, she tried not to let his paranoia get to her, "Well, maybe a Serpent took the donuts? And maybe the hat fell between the seats? Or under your seat? We can look when we get to the Register."

           He continued to search as she drove, not listening as she tried to reason with him and it wasn't until they arrived at the Register and she'd looked between and under both seats that she stood back and met his blue eyes, "Who would want your beanie?" She asked him, and he could only shrug helplessly, looking somehow more lost than the night he'd come into Pop's.

* * *

           Carlos was twirling the soft, worn beanie around his finger a few hours after lifting it from Betty's Buick, letting the inane action of spinning soothe the darkness inside him as the couple he watched both stood at the sound of an approaching car. Their campsite was sparse, no more than a simple tent and a backpack beside it. They shared a look he couldn't read before they headed up the wooded hill that overlooked the parking lot, their movements quiet and controlled, what little sound their footsteps made happening in tandem so it sounded like just one person.

           He'd never met the couple before, but he'd heard enough about them to know exactly who they were. They were the modern-day Bonnie and Clyde, if the classic duo were contract killers instead of the flashy life of robbing banks. Isaac and Heidi Savidge better known as 'Beauty & the Beast', with Isaac the beautiful one and Heidi the Beast, were fast becoming the best killers money could buy.

           Aside from Carlos, of course. Though he'd long ago set his price too high for most to even consider.

           "Buick." Heidi murmured, her voice velvety and uncommonly deep for a woman. "Two blondes." She added, "And there's our ticket." The growing excitement in her voice unnerved Carlos and he began to see why she was the one referred to as the Beast. It didn't help that she had a mane of frizzy, dark mahogany hair that any sane person would cut off or at least tame in a braid.

           "How do you want to play this, darling?" Isaac asked, his voice devoid of affection or inflection as his pale, grey eyes roved over what Carlos assumed was Betty and Jughead heading into the apartment building. His obvious apathy was somehow just as disconcerting as his wife's excitement.

           Carlos really did not want to hear how they intended to torture information out of the kind, blonde waitress. Their speculation of what would make her scream bringing images of his own wife to mind, Betty's face being replaced by Sophie's and he tucked the beanie in his pocket as he let his fury harden and ice around him, center him as he realized he couldn't intimidate these two.

           This was no Bradley Barber situation. No, this was kill or watch them take his only chance at revenge.

           He'd been playing the long-term game for ten years, he wasn't about to let some putting-the-spice-back-into-their-marriage, sociopathic assholes get between him and his double payday.

           The bark on the tree limbs bit into his hand as he lowered himself from his elevated height in the trees and then slowly crept up behind the two as they planned out how they would enter the building or if they'd wait and get the blonde the next time she came out to her car.

           Clearly, they hadn't looked at her male companion too hard or else they'd realize he was exactly who they were looking for. Carlos rolled his eyes at the lack of attention to detail these up and coming contract killers seemed to possess. If you were going to get into this field, the least you could do was be perceptive. Learn your hit and their habits and  _what they looked like_.

           Sighing, Carlos let the noise cut through their conversation as they both tensed and whipped around to face him. "Beauty and the Beast, what an interesting name choice." He crossed his arms over his chest as he surveyed the couple. They probably had 5 years or so on him and he wondered what exactly could have driven them from the suburbs into this particular profession. He could see Heidi working in some human resource department, performing quarterly sexual harassment seminars as Isaac worked in a shallow Project Manager position for a company that held off shore accounts.

           Really any mundane job for these two would fit them better than the one they'd chosen together. Although, he assumed that was their appeal. Look boring and then surprise the victims.

           "And you are?" Isaac asked, maintaining his bored persona, blonde, gelled hair glistening in the descending sunlight.

           Carlos fought back the patronizing smirk, having already noticed both their gazes on his scar. He hadn't bothered to don a turtleneck today, just a simple v-neck t-shirt that showed off the ugly, puckered red skin in all its glory. They knew exactly who he was. His question was on the tip of his tongue, but it burned like acid this time, warning him he didn't have the luxury of chitchatting with these two. He needed to deal with them.

           Straightening to his full height, he glowered, "I don't have time to play games with two amateurs. This hit is  _mine_. Leave town and I won't leave you bloody."

           His threats and height were usually enough, but the couple cast each other an amused glance that meant they weren't giving up their paycheck so easily. He sighed again as neither replied, but Heidi rushed forward, her reflexes quick as a jungle cat as she moved to take him down.

           She was lean and taller than the average woman, but she was also sloppy with apparent excitement for a fight, her punches thrown with a little more curve than they should have been. Carlos blocked and dodged them easily, gearing up for a fight that he was hoping wouldn't take too long to win.

           He'd had an entirely different plan for today when he'd come across the newcomers.

           His mother had raised him never to hit a woman, so he found himself instinctually holding back, though he was sure Heidi was not. Isaac seemed content to let his wife handle Carlos.

           Until the Cleaner finally decided enough was enough.

           Grabbing Heidi's leg as she swung it around aiming for his head, he used her own momentum to break it, her scream sending a flock of birds from the trees around them as he let gravity take her to the ground. He braced for Isaac's attack, but it didn't come. He simply stood there with a gun trained on Carlos, his elfin face cut with a hardness that was common among those willing to kill others for money.

           "I guess the Cleaners about to get…cleaned."

           Isaac's smug, arrogant face was not going to be the last one Carlos ever saw. The man had the higher ground, so Carlos ducked low and zigzagged up the hill as the blonde man released a few bullets, each missing him by mere inches until he tackled Isaac to the ground. It'd been awhile since he'd physically fought someone and the adrenaline was a high that was beginning to send him over the edge of the sanity he'd been carefully re-building the last ten years.

           Flashes of faces that were not Isaac, that were men long dead by his hand but still haunting his soul, began to overwhelm him and the most recognizable one was Clifford Blossom. The one who still survived. Carlos reached for an image of Sophie, to reign in the cold, Cleaner that wanted to dispose of the man underneath him, and almost didn't quite accomplish it.

           But, there she was. Dark, honey gold hair and hazel eyes smiling up at him, her stomach round with  _his_  child. A mere baby uncorrupted by the dark world he lived in…

           He sat back on his heels and surveyed the groaning, still alive man on the ground. "My fucking nose!" He said, tone nasally as blood poured between fingers and over knuckles as he put pressure on it.

           "You kill for a living and you can't handle a broken nose?" Carlos deadpanned, reaching in his back pocket for the charcoal colored beanie. "Use this."

           The man didn't even look at it, just pressed it against his bloodied nose, grey eyes glaring at Carlos, "Listen, I'm sure we can square up a deal here." Isaac began around the knitted cap.

           Shaking his head and sighing, Carlos looked back to where Heidi was limping towards their backpack, no doubt going for another gun to take him out, "Don't bother, Mrs. Savidge, you'll be dead well before you get within reach of that bag." He called out to her, picking up the discarded gun and cocking it. He aimed it at the woman and turned back to Isaac, "There's no deal here, leave or I kill you both."

           A twig snapped and Carlos first looked to Heidi, whose face was too pale and who hadn't moved since he'd addressed her, and then his head swung around to the left of him as the man stepped between two trees, Betty peeking over his shoulder as he broke the silence, "Or, and here's another idea, I kill you all."

           Carlos sighed as Jughead Jones stepped into view with his gun trained on him. He thought, not for the first time, that this wasn't what he'd had planned for today at all.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> I'm ball-parking 4 more chapters after this one! This went a LITTLE different than I intended, but I can roll with it :) Hoping everyone is enjoying and I'm sorry for slow updates! My final semester is kicking my ass and there's not a whole lot of time to write for pleasure. But, I'll update when I can and I love each and every one of you for sticking through this with me!! Thank you to everyone reading, leaving kudos, and comments! Less than 3 weeks till S2, ya'll!!!


	13. Black Market

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> "I'm falling on my knees right now, I'm covered in the mess I've made. These colors used to wash right out, but now they are a part of me." -Black Market by Rise Against

            If he hadn’t overheard the scuffle between the older men and the blonde man’s comment about cleaning the Cleaner, Jughead knew he never would have recognize Carlos ‘The Cleaner’ DeSantos.

            And that realization terrified him.

            This man standing here, with a gun pointed at someone and probably the reason that woman had a broken leg looked nothing like the horrifying Boogeyman that haunted Jughead’s childhood. Yet, he was just as deadly as he’d always been. Only now he hid it in a pretty package.

            “I almost didn’t recognize you.” The words were out of his mouth before he could stop them, the shock apparent in his tone as the Cleaner took his eyes off the other man long enough to meet his gaze. The dark blue eyes that used to be sunken and hollow in a thin, skeletal face were now bright with life in a face filled out from years of constant meals. Half of those years this man spent building a new life as Jughead’s fell apart, and now he was here to make sure Jug never rebuilt it…

            The smile that turned the corner of the Cleaner’s mouth was humorless, “I suppose I’ve changed.” His gravelly voice reminded Jughead of the sickening reason he’d packed up and left Riverdale, the scar wrapped around his neck puckered and pink against his bronze skin. He didn’t want to compare the ways Clifford Blossom destroyed both of their lives, but at least this man got away. At least Clifford didn’t hunt him.

            “Couldn’t have changed all that much.” Jughead replied, cocking the gun as he felt Betty grab his free hand and squeeze lightly. It was a reminder that she was there, that he currently had something worth living through this moment for.

            The Cleaner’s blue eyes caught the movement, lingering on their clasped hands and traveling up their arms to look knowingly between the two of them.

            Without warning, a cellphone began to ring and they all exchanged looks until Carlos chuckled, “Whoops, that’s me. Hang on.” He reached into his pocket nonchalantly and swiped across the screen to answer the call, “DeSantos.”

            Jughead’s ears twitched as he caught the muffled sound on the other end, but none of the words were distinct. For a moment, it almost sounded as if he was being reprimanded.

            His chuckle was dry, “Clearly, I’m alive. But, yes, I know the gunshots you’re referring to.”

            A pause before he looked between the two strangers and added, “I got you a gift, wrapped up all neat in a bow.”  

            Betty’s hand squeezed Jug’s again as he heard her intake of breath right before she uttered, “Carlos!” Her words were somewhere between a whisper and a shout, but it was enough of a warning for the man to duck as the woman fired a gun she must have gotten out of the bag that was, just a few seconds ago, out of her reach.

            “Fucking die already.” She groused, but before she could fire again, Jughead took aim and fired at her hand, sending her gun flying into the underbrush and causing her to curse and cradle her hand and glare in his direction as blood bloomed over her cupped hand. It was a knee jerk reaction, really. He couldn’t exactly explain why he’d prevented her from killing the man that was so obviously here to kill _him_ , but it was done, “You’ll pay for that, kid.” She snarled, her dark eyes zeroing in on him, really looking at him for the first time.

            He ignored her scrutiny, unnerved as realization dawned on her face just as Carlos, now off the phone, tackled the man she was with. The two scuffled over something as Betty began to move towards the woman, clearly intent on helping and not being another bystander but Jughead grabbed her hand, “Betty,” He warned, unsure as to why he felt in his gut that something wasn’t quite right with the woman. Before he could explain, Carlos brought a rock down on the man’s head and stood up in time to hold a hand out and order, “Don’t get too close to her!”

            The woman cackled, her curly brown hair seeming to vibrate around her face as though it wasn’t hair but serpents, “Do come closer, girl.” She sneered, reaching a hand out like some kind of witch from a Disney movie. Betty shuffled back a step, wary.

            “Beauty here is unconscious, Beast, and the authorities are on their way.” Carlos spoke to the woman, his words punctuated by the arrival of a lone, dark car with red and blue dashboard lights that cut through the suddenly dark woods as dusk bled into night. “Betty, dear, see that…Aaron there is tucked safely in your apartment. Let them know this was nothing but a domestic dispute and that you stumbled upon them and knocked Isaac here unconscious with a rock.” He tossed the rock in question towards them and Betty caught it easily, questions written across her face as she looked to Jughead.

            He knew his face mirrored hers as Carlos slid his gun away and nodded at them before disappearing into the woods, no sound following his exit, not even of his footsteps.

            “He’s right.” Betty spoke, breaking Jughead’s gaze from the woods to meet her achingly lovely green eyes, “Go back to the apartment and wait for me. I’ll talk to the police.” He opened his mouth to say he’d stay with her but she shook her head, “You have no identification. We don’t know these people, they could be after you, too. I need you safe and Sheriff Keller knows you. Please, just this once.” Her words became rushed and turned into a whisper as footsteps and flashlights cut through as an unknown voice called out.

             “I can’t argue with your logic, Cooper.” He murmured, “I’ll hide, but I won’t head back to the apartment until I’m sure those are cops.”

            Betty nodded, her eyes watching him melt into the darkness in an eerily similar manner to Carlos’ exit and then she turned to see the newcomers break through the foliage, into the clearing. Flashlights swept across the scene, blinding her, and she tried not to look as nervous as she felt as one of the people came towards her. “Are you alright, Miss?”

            He was probably in his late twenties, his voice deep and rumbly, strangely soothing. “Y-yeah, I’m fine. But, I don’t think he is.” She nodded to the unconscious man and then held out the rock to the man.

            Watercolor green eyes shone from the pale, light of the flashlight as the man got within a foot of her to speak reassuringly, “My name is Agent Rhodes. I’ve been investigating these two for close to a year, you’re a very lucky lady, Miss.” He paused and turned to watch with Betty as his partner approached the ‘Beast’ as Carlos referred to her. Betty figured with a mouth like hers, it seemed rather fitting.

            The other agent handcuffed the brunette, who spit and swore the entire time, “You’ve got a lot of nerve, bitch! Handcuffing a defenseless woman! Do you think I’m going to run away?” She bit out, continuing to grumble and gripe the entire time as the agent ignored her threats and moved over to check on the man.

            “Unconscious, but alive.” She drawled to Rhodes, for it was a woman, and the tension seemed to ease in both of them. “Get the civs statement then come help me lift this...” She glanced briefly at Betty, as though to gauge what she could get away with, then shrugged, “….piece of shit.”

            Rhodes smothered a laugh with a cough and lazily reached into pocket for a small notebook, as if he weren’t in the woods where numerous gun shots had gone off just twenty minutes or so ago. Betty felt relaxed with both of them, their obvious comradery and lack of professionalism didn’t spook her the way Hollywood portrayed FBI Agents. Granted, neither one looked older than thirty at the most, so maybe they were just gathering experience with small town cases…

            “Don’t mind Fuentes, she’s always pissy when it’s her turn to tangle with the rats. So, miss, tell me what brought you out here, what happened…” He waved his hand to mime what Betty suspected was an all-encompassing type movement that made her think of her mother, who always talked with hands moving in big flourishes.  

            It gave her the courage and just a touch of regret to lie to the easy-going Federal Agent “I-I heard the gunshots and I know I probably shouldn’t have come to look, but the woman screeched, and I just knew if she was in danger I wouldn’t be able to live with myself if anything happened to her. So, I came out here and I think they were having a-a domestic dispute. I grabbed a rock and brought it down on the man’s head.”

            Agent Rhodes sighed as he wrote in the small notebook he’d pulled out for her statement, “And your name and number in case we need to follow up?” He asked, lightly.  

            “Betty- Elizabeth, Cooper.” She noted the way his pen paused before writing her name and when she gave him her telephone number, he seemed to speak a little more gently and with a lot more candor.

            “I’m glad you’re safe, Ms. Cooper.” He murmured, tucking the notepad in his pocket, “These two are contract killers. Beauty,” he pointed towards the man, and then the woman, “And the Beast. They’ve been just out of our reach, but with the right help, we were able to catch them before their next target.”

            Betty swallowed, not needing to ask who their next target was, but wondering if she could be honest with the man in front of her and find out someway to protect Jughead. “I-I’m glad, Agent Rhodes.” She murmured, instead. Her plan would be put into effect tomorrow, if it didn’t work, then maybe she would reach out to Rhodes and Fuentes for help. It felt good to have another back up strategy in place, especially now that Carlos knew where she lived…

             “Here’s my card, in case you remember anything else? Otherwise, you’re free to head back home.” Rhodes interrupted her thoughts, a new anxiety and exhaustion swamping over her as she realized she needed to move her and Jughead before he could feel safe.

            Robotically, she reached out for the card and nodded her head, “Thank you.”

            He tilted his head to catch her eyes, “Are you alright Miss Cooper?”

            She forced the smile she’d perfected over the course of her life, the smile that felt brittle but always masked the truth of her feelings, her worries and anxieties. “Just crazy to find out who these people actually are. Thanks for putting them behind bars, Agent Rhodes.” She nodded to him before turning around and heading towards the apartment, picking her way through the jagger bushes and dead leaves with her brain whirling at the events that seemed to happen too quickly to comprehend.

            First, Jughead confronting the Cleaner, then the phone call, the movement of the Beast as she went for the gun, and then Isaac getting knocked out and Carlos disappearing as the Agents arrived…it was all so much.

            She dug into her pocket, pulling her phone out and scrolling through her contacts. She needed a safe place tonight for them, but in the last five years her list of people to lean on had slowly deteriorated much like Jughead’s life. First Archie and her mother ran off, and even though she was speaking to them again, they were across the country living it up on the West Coast. Veronica and Cheryl lived together in New York City, and even if they were in Riverdale visiting the Lodge’s or Cheryl’s mother, that didn’t seem like the best case scenario considering it was Cheryl’s father who was after Jughead.

            Or, it would have been the best hiding spot, right below Clifford’s nose…but again, that couldn’t work. Cheryl and Veronica were most definitely in the city right now.

            Which brought her to her last friend. Kevin. Who lived with Joaquin, who was the brother to the Cleaner. It wasn’t ideal, but it seemed unlikely to her that Carlos would guess they’d hide with his sibling.

            Sighing, she hit Kevin’s number just as she stepped into her building, annoyed when it went to voicemail after a few rings, “Hey, Kev, it’s me. Give me a call back as soon as you get this.”

            Betty nodded to the guy at the front desk as she got on the elevator and pressed her floor number. She glanced down at the card the FBI agent had given her, the name of both him and his partner printed in black on a sterile white background. Charles Rhodes and Lucila Fuentes along with two different cell phone numbers. She thought back to the phone call Carlos had taken, his words about a gift for whoever was on the other line as he focused on the two contract killers.

            Her stomach flipped with nerves as the elevator opened on her floor and she stepped out with a mess of tangled emotions. Though, Joaquin had warned her of his brother’s false charm and the inevitable strike, she was beginning to wonder if they’d gotten him all wrong. He hadn’t attacked them in the woods, yet he could have circled back and gone for Jughead once the Agents showed up, could have been waiting for him in her apartment if he really wanted to kill Jug…

            The thought sent her running down the rest of the way down the hall, fumbling with her keys as she hurriedly unlocked the door, her ears listening for any kind of violence going on behind the door before she flung it open.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> PLEASE FORGIVE ME FOR THE 4 MONTH WAIT!!! I was finishing my last semester of grad school so I didn't have any spare time for writing things I actually enjoy. And then once it was over I was too burnt out to write this chapter and also it was probably the most difficult chapter TO write. Ugh. 
> 
> I hope it wasn't anticlimactic and that it was worth the wait. There will be more exciting confrontations very soon (and smut!) and the next chapter is half written so not a long wait. 
> 
> Again, I'm super sorry. I didn't mean to leave yinz hanging in this suspenseful purgatory so long. Oh, and I WILL reply to everyone who has commented and I'm sorry that's taken me forever as well!


	14. Two

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> “Like a force to be reckoned with, a mighty ocean or a gentle kiss. I will love you with every single thing I have.” -Two by Sleeping at Last

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Warning: Explicit sex in this chapter!

            Jughead paced the apartment, waiting for Betty to come back up. He’d eavesdropped as long as he could, long enough to hear the agents’ warning about Beauty & the Beast until, with a sickness in his gut, he slinked away. Back to her home, where he was ‘safe’, for now, but at least he had an aerial view of the agents putting the contract killers into the back seat of their unmarked car.

            He was all but humming with anxiety, could feel it right down to his bones at the thought that the Cleaner knew where they were, knew his hair was blonde, and so did the other two. He was sure the woman had recognized him in that moment in the woods where she’d finally taken a good look at him. It was true, they were safely in custody, but for how long? And who was to say they wouldn’t pass the word around somehow?

            This hiding spot that had been perfect a couple weeks ago was now compromised, made obvious by the three murderers that, just an hour ago, had been lying in wait beyond the parking lot, hidden in the trees. He was no longer safe here, in this tiny one-bedroom apartment that had become home in such a short amount of time he thought he must have been desperate for that feeling. He’d grabbed onto this place with both hands…

            No, not just this place. Her.

            Hurried footsteps down the hall brought him out of his thoughts as a key sounded in the door and she flung it open, the hallway light shining behind her like a halo. He stopped in his pacing to gaze at her, everything falling away around them until nothing but her face filled his vision. Her blonde hair looking softer than silk, her cupid bow lips and those soulful green eyes staring at him with first panic, then relief, and ending with exhaustion and resignation over the obvious fact that shit had finally hit the fan.

            It was a punch to the gut to realize he loved her. In this shitty, messed up world of his he’d managed to find love and now…

            Now, she was no longer safe. His heart stuttered a bit as he remembered the Cleaner sizing them up in the woods. That spark of knowing in those eyes, the knowledge that Jughead had a weakness and it was the blonde tucked half-behind him. The Cleaner didn’t threaten her and Jughead had never heard rumors of the man going after families of his victims, but it was a real enough fear to steal the breath from his lungs at the very concept.

            He should have never dragged her into this. First the man at Pop’s attacked her and now the Cleaner knew Jughead cared more about her safety than his own. “Betty, we can’t stay here.” He finally said, watching as she shut the door behind her and dropped to the couch, a worn look on her face.

            “I called Kevin on my way up here and left a message.” She murmured, soothingly, as if they hadn’t just found three people who wanted him dead in the woods behind her apartment.

            “What did the FBI say?” He asked, finally, sitting beside her as his fingers itched to comfort her. She looked so tired from confronting his father this morning, to laying plans out with her dad, and now after this mess…

            Her intelligent green eyes turned to concentrate on him and he was hit again with how perfect she was. How easy it would be to trust her with the parts of himself he’d locked down a long time ago, the soft parts that he protected fiercely because they were the only bits of goodness he hadn’t lost yet to a world out to kill him.

            She reached out and cupped his chin, her hands so soft that he found himself leaning into her touch, hungry for any affection that had been denied him over his solitary years, “That couple…they were contract killers, Juggie.” Betty didn’t need to say, ‘they were here for you’, he could hear the unspoken words.

            “I know, I heard that.” He searched her eyes as she gazed openly and steadily into his own.

            Betty Cooper’s eyes fell to his lips before rising back to meet his, “And now the Cleaner knows where we are.” She was stating the obvious, they both knew this, but she didn’t seem to know what else to say.

            The room sizzled with a sudden electricity as she moved her hand from his cheek to brush back through his hair, nails scraping his scalp in a way that was soothing and at the same time erotic.

            The small gesture sent every wall inside him crumbling down as he wondered if he’d be dead soon. Finally, he’d be free of being hunted; his family and Betty would be safe, at last. Jellybean could finish school, go on to college like she’d always talked about, and Betty would graduate and open her own mechanic shop. She’d settle down with a man who was safe-unbroken-and have the children she’d always wanted while fixing cars and being loved like she should be. Like she deserved.

            But, before all that could happen…he wanted to be selfish. A wave of various emotions crashed over him, drowning him in recklessness, desire, and hopelessness. Everything culminating into one truth; this might be his last night alive and he wanted to spend it with her.

            He reached forward, his movement causing her hand to pause in his hair as she watched his own rise to cup her jaw gently and then he was pulling her to him, his lips on hers before she could even inquire about his intentions. Hungrily, he claimed her mouth, his shoulders relaxing the moment she melted into him and responded, rather than pulling away and crying like the last disastrous kiss they shared.

            “Juggie.” She sighed against his lips, and it was that soft whisper of a nickname that he associated with her alone that undid any of his restraint.

            He deepened the kiss, his tongue sliding along her lip and once she opened to him, they were both lost. Suddenly, they were clawing at each other’s clothes, desperate to feel each other. When he removed her undershirt to reveal the smooth, creamy skin underneath, he groaned as his hands splayed out to touch every centimeter of her. She shivered beneath his touch, her own hands slipping beneath his t-shirt and skimming upwards to shed him of it.

            Despite going to school to be a mechanic, Betty’s hands were soft and nimble as she hastily slid them south to undo his belt. He shuddered beneath her touch before reaching for her hands to stop her, “The bedroom?” He asked, gruffly.

            “The bedroom.” She nodded her head, her green eyes clearing just a bit from the hazy lust as she grabbed his hand and pulled him from the couch.

            He breathed a sigh of relief when she shut the door behind them, feeling safe now that they weren’t in the open, that at least in this small, windowless bedroom he could let his guard down enough to show her how much he wanted her. How much she meant to him.

            But, Betty had other plans. Smiling, she stood in front of him, angling them so his back was to the bed before she pressed her palms onto his bare chest and slowly pushed him back until the back of his knees hit the mattress and buckled so that he was going down, a gorgeous blonde straddled on top of him in nothing but her black bra and jeans.

            It was the most wickedly sexy move and he savored the feel of her as he trailed his hands down her spine before cupping her ass, only pausing when he felt the hardness of her phone in her back, left pocket. She grunted in dissatisfaction as she pulled her phone out and tossed it onto the nightstand before quickly returning her lips to his. He groaned as she rocked her hips against him, pressing closer to the hardness that was taut against his jeans, and he could feel the heat of her wanting. Jughead found his breath leave him as their kiss broke and she began to trail her lips along his jaw and down his neck.

            It was jarring to realize she wanted him as much as he wanted her. Her, the clever, beautiful and perfect Cooper daughter that stayed in Riverdale, gave up a bright future, to be close to her father after her parents’ divorce.

            Elizabeth Cooper wanted him. Damaged Goods Jones, the broken, hunted child of alcoholic FP Jones; the snitch who sold out Clifford Blossom for murdering his own son.

            Never had Jughead felt more bewildered, or more humbled.

            Gently, he slid his hands up her back, deftly unhooking her bra so he could give her a taste of the physical pleasure just being around her gave him. She sat back to let the straps fall down her shoulders, the black lace of the bra sliding off her to reveal her smooth, pert breasts. He nearly groaned as she tossed the bra across the room and they swayed, her pink nipples hardening at the cool air as he reached to cup one perfect breast in his hand.

            Betty’s breath sucked in sharply at the contact and she arched at his touch, eyes hooding as she gazed down at him with want and lust. “Juggie.” She murmured, arching her back so her breast was more fully in his grasp. The small act making his cock twitch and ache even more, especially as she began to subtly rock her hips.

            “Jesus, you’re beautiful, Betts.” Jughead’s sincere declaration pulled Betty from the pleasure and she took in his face as best that she could in the darkness of the room as her whole body thrummed and ached with want for him.

            She smiled at the compliment and stroked his cheek, “I want you, Juggie.” The words came out shyly, despite the fact that she was straddled on top of him and half-naked.

            He groaned and then suddenly he was on top, smoothly flipping her and pinning her beneath him before hungrily going for her lips once more. His desperation matched her own and she found her hands immediately reaching for his pants, to relieve him of all articles of clothes, and she grinned against his lips as he reached for the last of her own clothes.

            She was mesmerized by how far they’d come-how far he’d come-from that flinching, beat-up man in the booth at Pop’s to this sexy man atop her.

            It was a mess of tugging and pulling as they shed all barriers between them, but it was worth it the moment every inch of his heated skin met hers. His body toned and hard from years of fighting to stay alive, yet his skin felt soft beneath her palms as she let her hands wander. When she found the part of him that was all male, she grinned as his breath hitched at her touch. Hardness and silkiness in the palm of her hand…

            “Betty,” Jughead whispered, “Are you sure this is what you want?”

            The uncertainty even as she lay wet and ready beneath him, melted her heart, “Yes, Juggie.” She replied.

            “Uh, do you have…a condom?” He asked, hesitating, wondering if this was an appropriate time to bring up protection.

            She chuckled lightly, “I’ve been on the pill since I was sixteen. Ya know, since Polly got knocked up.”

            Jug let out a soft laugh, feeling relieved that Betty was always prepared for everything, before he smoothed his hands down her sides, sliding them along her figure and when he reached just behind her knees, he teased one hand back up along her inner thigh. Betty sighed at the caresses, her legs falling apart at the tingles left in the wake of his stroking until his hand found her center and slowly brushed against the part of her that ached the most for him.

            She licked her lips, “Juggie,” His name came out more of a moan as he flicked her small bundle of nerves, “Jug, maybe we could save the foreplay for later. I _need_ you.”

            His hand didn’t stop, but his breath turned ragged as he slid his fingers to her entrance, feeling that her words were true and that she was more than ready for him. He moved to brace a hand on either side of her head, sucking in a sharp breath when he felt her reach her own hand between them and position him where she wanted him. “God, Betty.” He muttered harshly in her ear, “Don’t ever stop doing that.”

            Betty grinned, surprising him further by wrapping her long legs around him and taking him deep inside her, causing him to shudder as she took control of him even though she was beneath him.

            He hadn’t told her but being on the run since he was sixteen meant he didn’t have the safe place or even a relationship to lose his virginity. He’d made out with Toni once while staying with her and her uncle, but she’d made it clear she wasn’t looking for more. Everything they were doing he had almost no experience with. Just what he’d gathered from reading and the internet. He was hoping he didn’t blow this whole thing.

            Her soft, long moan brought him back to this moment and he wondered how his mind had even wandered away from it. He blamed the overload of pleasure, his mind trying not to let his body come too soon, and he held still inside her as he gathered his self-control. “Give me a second.” He whispered thickly to her because she kept moaning and moving beneath him.

            “Fuck, Jug.” She cursed, surprising him, “You feel so good.”

            Sucking in a few more ragged breaths, he began to slowly pull out of her, gritting his teeth as she clenched around him, the pleasure of this moment making him wonder if he was dreaming. But, no. He couldn’t be. No dream could be as good as this.

            Betty gasped as he pressed back in and he swallowed it with his mouth, lips tangling as they fell into a rhythm together. It was poetry, the way their bodies met and parted, only to meet again in an endless stream of eroticism. Jughead had never felt this vulnerable or this powerful all at once as he picked up the pace, her moans and curses at how thick he was, how good he felt echoing in his ears, spurring him on.

            He clenched his jaw as he kept going, feeling close to the edge but wanting her to finish first. It was sublimely torturous, sinfully so, as he moved a hand down to grip her hip before moving between them. He searched for her clit for a split second before he swirled his finger around it, once, twice…

            Betty gasped as Jug touched her where she hadn’t been aware she needed it most, but it was enough. She found herself coming swiftly as he flicked it the third time, her scream of pleasure ripping from her throat as her eyes rolled back and stars burst behind her eyelids. The orgasm seemed to last, gaining a second wave as Jughead toppled over the edge with her, groaning her name as he came.

            “Oh my…” Betty said, breathlessly, as he rolled off her, pulling her against him as he laid back and tried to catch his breath.

            He chuckled, “Please tell me you’re feeling satisfied?”

            Betty turned to look up at him from beneath her lashes, smiling sweetly up at him as she replied, “Of course. Completely and utterly.”

            Jughead returned her smile, feeling contentment and happiness wash through him for the first time in…well, probably the first time ever.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Chapter 15 will be up later today I PROMISE! Much love and thanks for everyone who's commented and stuck through with me this long!! <3 The Bughead fandom is the best!


	15. Iridescent

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> "When you were standing in the wake of devastation, when you were waiting on the edge of the unknown…and with the cataclysm raining down, insides crying "Save me now!" You were there, impossibly alone…" Iridescent by Linkin Park

 

            When Betty's breathing turned deep and even, her beautiful heart-shaped face relaxing for the first time that day, his mind finally clicked back on. As though a switch was flicked, he found himself drinking in her features because he'd realized, somewhere this evening, this might be the last time he saw her.

            And he felt like a fool for being selfish with her, for taking what she was willing to give him and then running away, but he could not find it in himself to regret this moment. He swore this night with her would be the last hurrah when his life flashed before his eyes in what he assumed would be just a few hours.

            What a face to die to.

            He tried to push his thoughts from the melodrama, from the dark, Poe-like fixation on his impending death and focus on the present. It was time to leave. He'd upturned her life and put her in too much danger. He knew he was going to go against her wishes of going through this together, and he was so grateful for all of her planning and the amount of effort she put into saving his life, though at this point it would be all for nothing.

            After being a survivor for so long, Jughead Jones was about to turn it around and walk head on towards his death. If only to spare Betty from any pain caused by helping him.

            Slowly, he extracted his arm from beneath her head, watching as she turned on her side and wiggled back until she was pressed against his warmth. The movement caused a soft smile to pull at his lips until he realized he couldn't keep this.

            He tucked the warm blankets around her, a poor substitute for his body heat but hopefully warm enough to keep her sleeping for a few hours and the proceeded to collect his few meager belongings. He stood in the kitchen for longer than he should have, debating on leaving a note for her. Finally, he left a few words scribbled on an envelop from her mail pile and placed it on the bare kitchen table for her to find.

            Closing the door to her apartment was like closing the lid of his own coffin.

            With numb fingers, he clicked on the only name listed in his favorite contacts, listened to the three rings until finally, "Hello?" The rough question told him he'd woken him up.

            "Joaquin, where is your brother staying?" His words came out in a hollow, measured voice that sounded unfamiliar to his ears.

            A sigh came through the connection, "Are you going to do something stupid, Jones?"

            That strangers voice of his replied automatically, avoiding the question, "I'll find him with or without your help, but it would be much faster if you'd just tell me."

            His statement was met with a brief moment of silence before his best friend groaned, "Where are you? I'll pick you up."

            "Betty's apartment, be quick. I think she called Kevin for a place for us to stay." Jughead's heart pounded as he thought of Betty waking up to his absence, of her confusion and then anger. He'd promised her they'd do this together, but he just couldn't let her get caught in the crosshairs of his mess of a life. He wouldn't be able to live with himself if that happened.

            "You're fine, Kevin's working the graveyard shift tonight. If the hospital is busy, he won't look at his phone till sunrise." Joaquin's words soothed Jughead's panic, but he edged towards the sidewalk in front of the apartment, still looking for Joaquin's car even if he knew his friend hadn't left, yet.

            "Hurry, I don't want the Cleaner to come here before I go to him." With that, he hung up, nerves settling in the pit of his stomach as he realized he was headed to the hotel room of a man who'd been hired to kill him.

            A man whose reputation had never been synonymous with mercy.

            He didn't feel relief from the acid in his stomach until Joaquin pulled up in his maroon Trans Am, right turn signal flashing orange in the dark, and Jughead quickly climbed in as Joaquin glared at him, "Why is your hair blonde?" Clearly, FP hadn't filled his friend in on their visit this morning. Before Jughead could answer the question, though, Joaquin angrily shook his head and made an illegal u-turn, "Nevermind. And I  _knew_  Betty had something to do with this." He paused again, nearly allowing Jughead to speak before adding, quietly, "You're committing suicide, you know that?"

            Jughead winced at the anger still evident in the question, knew he was basically spitting in the face of everyone who'd ever helped him, but the resolution that sat in his gut told him it was time. This life of being hunted needed an ending. Why it needed to be the Cleaner, he wasn't sure, but he knew this was the right course of action.

            "Thanks for everything." He murmured the gratitude in the stillness of the car, the waves of frustration rolling off Joaquin easing gradually, his best friends' shoulders slumping ever so slightly.

            Joaquin glanced over, through a strand of black hair, before returning his blue eyes to the road, "Anything for you, man."

            It wasn't until Joaquin pulled into the parking lot of the shit motel just outside of Riverdale that Jughead broke the silence, "Watch over Betty for me. Don't let her do anything stupid."

            He was reaching for the door handle when Joaquin's sudden musing froze him where he was, "Wasn't Betty Cooper who you based the girl off in your novel?"

            "I don't remember." Jughead muttered, cheeks flushing when Joaquin barked out a laugh, both of them seeing the response for the lie that it was.

            It was silent another heartbeat before Jughead finally opened the door and got out in one fluid moment, his body acquiring a strange grace as the finality of his life settled into his bones. It actually felt like…relief.

            "Room nine." Joaquin called out, grumbling, "It's always nine." Before adding, louder, "I should be stopping you from this, Jughead." Before Jughead could close the door.

            Jughead shook his head, squinting up at the dark sky above them, the stars drowned by the bright lights around them. "There's nothing you could say. This is what needs to happen. I can't run anymore." He paused before meeting Joaquin's eyes, "I'm getting tired of just surviving."

            He shut the door before his friend could say anything more and stepped back as the Trans Am's tires kicked gravel up as it spun out of the parking lot. Sighing with relief knowing that Joaquin wouldn't let anything happen to Betty, he turned and scanned the numbers of the hotel rooms. His eyes stopped on the end one, number nine, and for a moment he just stared at the door as his mind brought up old memories of his childhood imaginations when anyone talked about the Cleaner.

            Jughead knew the older residents had used him as a Boogeyman long after he'd left town, keeping the fear alive as they threatened their children to behave lest he come and clean them up. He remembered his own mother saying it to a young Jellybean and he remembered FP had been angry at her for it, but he never thought to ask FP why.

            Now, that he thought about it, FP had never let anyone bad talk the Cleaner in front of him, nor said a word against the younger man. Sure, he'd railed hard about Antonio and the shit he'd put the gang through but never a word against the monster that was the Cleaner.

            By the time he came out of those musings, his feet had carried him to the hotel room door and he slowly raised his fist to knock.

            This was it.

            The Cleaner was ending a phone call, devil blue eyes trained on the contact picture of a pretty blonde woman as he opened the door. Obviously, he was expecting someone else as he said, "About time, Rhodes…" He trailed off as he realized Jughead wasn't who he thought he was. Carlos' eyes narrowed for a second, scrutinizing him, before he opened the door wider, "Jughead, come in."

* * *

            Betty woke up to her phone's ringtone trilling just to her left and as sleep fell away, she realized it wasn't the only thing she woke up to.

            She was also very alone.

            Which stumped her as she reached for the phone to quiet it. She hadn't been alone in weeks, not since a certain Serpent jacket-wearing man entered her place of work and turned her world upside down. His war-torn, hunted weariness combined with his sweet, hidden vulnerableness, and the occasional glimpses of hope in stormy blue eyes winning her heart in such a short amount of time, she could have gone back in time and slapped high-school Betty for being so caught up in Archie Andrews she didn't notice the boy that had been right under her nose.

            Until he wasn't.

            "Hello?" She answered the call, her mind elsewhere as she tried to comprehend where he could have gone. The bathroom? She didn't hear any sounds within her dark apartment.

            "Betty? I got your message, what's wrong?" Kevin's voice was weary, as though he were tired, which was entirely possible, she decided, as she heard the garbled noise of the intercom that seemed to always be blaring through the corridors of the Riverdale Hospital that he worked at.

            Her brain, still sleep fogged and confused as to where Jughead was, attempted to catch up with everything that was going on, "Uh, I called about…about staying at your place for just a day or two. I…" She hadn't told Kevin about anything, the last few weeks had been Jughead-centric, so wrapped up in each other and surviving she hadn't even really talked to anyone. "Kevin, I'll call you back, I need to check something."

            "Bet-" She hung up before he could even say her name, scrambling from the bed, tossing on the first t-shirt she laid hands on and opening her door to a dark apartment.

            The sun was just rising on the other side of the building, soft grey light barely pushing through the blinds, but enough to shine light on an empty apartment. "Jughead?" She called out, her gut telling her no one would answer.

            A lump formed in her throat as she gazed around, tears threatening to fall as she spun slowly, looking for anything he could have left. Anything to give her hope he might come back.

            She paused right on the threshold of her kitchen, one piece of mail on the table apart from her normal mail pile on the bookshelf, and she took a hesitant step closer. It couldn't say anything good. He'd left and there was no excuse, nothing he could write that could make her forgive him for this. No words that could soothe her anger of the fact that he'd gone ahead and did exactly what they'd agreed he  _wouldn't do_.

            His hand writing was sloppy, but she could read the words and she choked back a sob.

_You made me realize that there are things worth dying for, but I'm sorry we didn't get more time._

_-Love, Jug_

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> This wasn't in the rough draft for the story either, but you know Jughead, the self-sacrificing little shit. Anyway, hope you guys enjoyed two chapters! I'll try to get the next one up soon! Not sure how many are left, these people in my head do their own thing.


	16. Don't You Dare Forget the Sun

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> “You’re a mess, tangled with your confidence, you think you haven’t sinned. Well, you’re unstoppable, your walls are impassible…” -Don’t You Dare Forget the Sun by Get Scared

            It was late when Charles Rhodes and his partner Lucila Fuentes got back to the Five Seasons. Lucy was looking a little less stunning than usual, but as a first generation Spanish Beauty visiting a back-water town like Riverdale, that just meant she was looking vaguely tired.

            “Can’t believe DeSantos got us the Beauty & the Beast. Guys back at the office are going to shit themselves.” She muttered dryly as they stopped outside her room. “Hope DeSantos doesn’t suffer a fall out from it.” It almost sounded like she cared, he thought, rubbing his mouth to hide his smile.

            He’d been working with Carlos for a few years now and it was funny to watch the others in his department, so against it in the beginning, slowly fall victim to the man’s cleverness and charm. Not to mention his uncanny ability to sniff out criminals not even the FBI could find. 

            Chuckling, he replied easily, “DeSantos is a cockroach. There’s no killing him.” This much was true, despite Charles’ joking tone. The survival rate of someone who’d been raised as Carlos had been on top of the current life he’d made as a private eye? Well, those odds weren’t in anyone’s favor…except this lucky bastard’s apparently. But, Charles hoped his luck didn’t run out any time soon.

            His luck usually transferred well over to him and Lucy.

            Lucy leaned back against her door, crossing her arms and eyeing him up with those dark eyes that sometimes haunted his dreams, “You know, I hate to admit when you’re right, Rhodes, but honestly DeSantos is probably one of the best guys we got on the force…and he isn’t even an agent.”

            Charles braced a hand against the door frame, not hiding his smile now, as he softly teased her, “Wow, put this one in the books. Fuentes is admitting she was wrong.”

            She narrowed her almond shaped eyes, “Don’t get used to it.” She was always as surly as a porcupine, but he saw it for what it really was. A defense mechanism born from a life of strangers approaching her to remark upon her beauty, her looks inviting unwanted attention and harassment.

            He smiled at her abrasiveness, having always been just a little bit in love with her whole Ice Queen façade, “Wouldn’t dream of it.” He told her easily, his eyes unwittingly dropping to her mouth.

            Immediately, the air between them sizzled and he swallowed the lump of anticipation down as he quickly pulled his gaze back up to hers. No matter how perfect her mouth was…well, they hadn’t crossed that line, yet, but he felt the temptation grow with every case they handled together. Straightening from his lean, he tried to break it. It was unprofessional to lust after your partner, the meetings and sexual harassment seminars drilled that into them since the very beginning. Charles Rhodes was not going to ruin his future in the Bureau by breaking the simplest rule, even if he was ninety-nine percent sure that Lucila Miranda Fuentes was his honest to God soulmate.

            And Lucy was just as committed to their job and partnership. She nodded as he cleared his throat, seemingly unaffected by the moment, until… “Good night, Chic.” She murmured in a sultry, teasing tone that sent his heart into overdrive. Not many people were allowed to use that nickname, but when it rolled off her tongue he thought it sounded like a hymn. Soft and pure. It made it hard to watch her slip into her room, knowing he was going back out into the night without her knowledge.

            “Sweet dreams, Lucila.” His soft reply was spoken to the heavy wooden door and he followed it with a sigh and a shake of his head.

            Time to get down to business. He and Carlos had a meeting scheduled and he was already late for it. Chic ignored the acid that settled in his stomach as he headed back to the car. It didn’t feel right to leave his partner out of this meetup but he also knew he wasn’t ready to open up to her. Lucy knew some things about his past, but there was far more she didn’t know; including a history with DeSantos that stretched all the way back to the womb...

            He pushed thoughts like those to the back. He didn’t have time to ruminate on the past. He’d been called back to Riverdale by Carlos for a bigger reason than the hit-couple and he was ready to find out why. His gut was telling him it had something to do with the Blossom Board he’d been working on for a few years, the corkboard that was sitting in his hotel room at this very moment, the holes in the case still waiting for the puzzle pieces to fall into place.

            Chic itched for the truth. In everything.

            It was one of the most constant feelings he’d ever experienced, and it always felt just out of reach. Even as a child, he’d felt it. He knew early on that Richard and Nancy Rhodes weren’t his real parents, though he couldn’t quite pinpoint how or when it occurred to him. He never brought it up, though. He waited patiently until they were ready to tell him and when they asked if he wanted his birth mother’s contact information, he politely declined.

            He never wanted them to think someone who gave him up meant more to him than the people that chose him.

            But, he did want the information, knew he’d have the opportunity at some point and so, he bided his time, went to college, majored in IT, joined the Bureau right after graduation in their cyber security department and then…realized he didn’t want to spend his life behind a desk. He applied for the field agent position and with a little hard work and some recommendations, he was finally given a case and a partner.

            As him and Lucy worked cases and proved to be a good team, he used his new position to look into the truth of his biological parents, found he was born in Riverdale, that he had two younger sisters. A small part of him felt a stab of bitterness when he realized they’d stayed together, that they went on to have more children and never reached out to him, though that wasn’t exactly possible given that Alice opted for a closed adoption.

            And then, fate stepped in. Or, more accurately, Carlos DeSantos reached out to him. Six months into his new job and he gets a call from the Private Investigator, the last name so familiar to Chic that he agreed to meet him in person.

            He pulled into the spot beside Carlos’ Subaru, the same vehicle he’d been driving for the last few years they’d been working together, and he brought his mind back to the present, this time telling it more firmly not to dwell on the unchangeable past.

            Sighing, he exited the sedan and headed toward room number nine, pulling out his phone to check the time and cursing when he realized he was a full half hour later than they’d agreed.

            Damn Lucy and her mesmerizing eyes.

            He knocked as he pulled his face into an expression of exaggeration, already knowing Carlos would comment on how late he was.

            Carlos answered fairly quickly, his face strangely devoid of any expression as he silently let Chic in before muttering, “About time, _cabrón._ ” as he shut the door and then locked it.

            The agent paused as he took in the stranger in the room, leaning on the wall farthest from Carlos with arms crossed, blue eyes weary, a lock of blonde hair falling into his eyes as he narrowed them on the newcomer, “Working with the FBI now, Cleaner?” He asked dryly, but his entire body was tense, humming with an anxiety that Chic couldn’t blame him for as he noted the old moniker.

            He’d be nervous around Carlos, too, if he knew the man beside him as The Cleaner.

            “What’s going on, Carlos?” His probing went unanswered and Chic finally turned to meet his indigo eyes. Carlos' face was still controlled, in an empty, scary way that sent a spike of warning up Chics’ spine. Something felt…off with him.

            Instead of answering his question, Carlos stepped over to the mini fridge and pulled out a bottle of Jack Daniels, pouring himself half a glass before waving between them, “Charles Rhodes, meet Aaron Wilson, the long lost son of Hal and Alice Cooper.”

            The FBI agent snorted, raising an eyebrow at the blonde man probably five or so years younger than him, “Are you messing with me, ‘Los?” He asked, “Because I didn’t come all the way to Riverdale for a joke.”

            Carlos leaned against the desk, sipping at the whiskey as he looked between the two blondes, “Oh, that’s right,” The PI said, thoughtfully and with just a touch of mockery, “This can’t be the son of Hal and Alice, because...you are, Chic.”

            Chic narrowed his eyes on the man who’d saved him on quite a few instances, wondering what was going on, as the stranger straightened up, “You’re Betty’s brother?” His voice was strangled as he spoke her name, eyes widened with a sort of disbelief, even as Chic gave him a curt nod, eyes still trained on DeSantos. A memory of the blonde, _his sister_ , flashed into his mind and he hoped she didn’t have anything to do with whatever the fuck was going on in Riverdale.

            “DeSantos what’s going on?” His question didn’t seem to pull Carlos out of his own head, his contrasting eyes with his caramel skin trained on the glass in his hand.

            It was silent, this fake Chic-Aaron?-looked between the two of them, confusion written blatantly on his face before settling his eyes on Carlos and blurting out, “Look, are you going to murder me or not? Because, otherwise I have a scrabble tournament down at the community center.”

            The question and joke broke Carlos out of his thoughts, his laughter breaking the tension and only further confusing Chic because it was not a nice laugh. It was cold and humorless. Slowly, Chic reached for the gun that was always tucked in the holster at the small of his back.

            The Cleaner, because this man in front of him no longer reminded him of the friend he’d come to rely on in the last few years, already had a gun up and pointed at him. He had no idea where he’d pulled it from, but his hand froze as he stared at the man, “Carlos?” He queried, his eyes meeting the man’s over the barrel of the gun.

            Carlos sighed, “I can’t believe you don’t trust me by now, Chic.”

            “I thought I did until you pointed a gun at my face.” Was his sassy reply, his gaze going to Aaron for a moment, “Did you take a cleaning job?” He wasn’t an idiot, he knew about the man’s past, knew of the ghosts that haunted him and the men left slaughtered in his wake. His crime lord father had done a good job of fucking up his oldest son, violently cultivating a young man into his own personal attack dog.

            He’d overlooked it for a long time because many of the men Carlos had taken care of had been more vile than him and long before they’d become friends, but if the kid in the room was his next hit…he didn’t think he could forgive this.

            “Hey, asshole, if you’re gonna point that gun at anyone, it should be me.” The younger man said, breaking between them and crossing to stand in front of Chic in a stupidly heroic move.

            Carlos stared hard at him, “Tut, tut, Jughead. Just as noble as your father, aren’t we?” His eyes glittered with a cunning intelligence and something like respect.

            “Jughead?” Chic was vaguely distracted by the name, wondering why it was familiar to him before realization hit him, “Jones?” The name had been on a slip of paper tucked in the wallet of Isaac Savidge.

            “Yes.” Carlos answered the questions, his voice curt and sneering as he added, “This is the missing piece to your Blossom Board, Rhodes. The reason for Clifford’s sudden moving of additional monetary assets.”

            _Enough money to pay off a hit and Carlos was here to kill Jughead. It was why he’d let them catch the other two…to get them out of his way._ Chic swallowed as he connected the dots, his fingers itching for his gun as him and Jughead stared The Cleaner down. “Why bring a federal agent to the room you plan to murder someone in?” He’d rather keep the man talking than killing, though his stomach turned at this sudden betrayal.

            After everything they'd been through...

            A half smile hiked up the corner of Carlos DeSantos' mouth, clearly catching onto his plan to keep talking, “Things haven’t been going according to plan. Luckily, I’m adaptable.” And without another word, he squeezed the trigger. 

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> I really hated the whole Chic aspect of season 2, so I'm glad I decided awhile back to incorporate a different version of him into my story. I have the next chapter started and 18 laid out and it's looking super angsty so hold tight, my dears! 
> 
> And so much love to everyone who has left feedback and kudos. This is the most responsive and wonderful fandom I've been a part of! I need to go back and thank you all individually but seriously, you guys are the best!


	17. The End

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> “This is the end. This is the end. You will wait to find that I’m still here And you’ve been waiting for the light to shine. Wake up, wake up, wake up. I’ll be the answer to the question I can answer. It’s a question you can’t spit it out, can we find, we find, we find a way out?” -The End by Daughter

            Four gunshots shattered the silence of the night and the Riverdale police department’s dispatcher lines lit up with calls as concerned motel guests described the successive shots.

            At the Five Seasons, Lucy turned over to her ringing phone, squinting as her partner’s name lit up the screen and she groggily answered it.

            “Fuentes, catch a cab and come down to the Shady Palm Motel.” Chic was panting, and his voice was strained with something like pain. Lucy pushed down her panic and quickly started getting dressed.

            “I’ll be there in ten.” She told him fiercely, hanging up as worry and confusion spurred her to move quickly.

            Across town, Hal Cooper was woken from a deep sleep as his police scanner began to call officers to the scene. He dressed quickly and grabbed his bag that always waited just beside the door containing his camera and laptop, ready for a story. If he got the details in the next hour or so, he'd still have time to make it to  _The Register_  and print out a new front page for the morning paper. 

            Once on scene, he realized he already had the obituary written. With a heavy heart at the events, he returned to his office, typed up the story, switched out the old front page with the new, and made sure the distributor was set to go before heading towards the apartment building on the northern end of Riverdale.

            He pulled into the spot beside Betty’s car just as she came running out of the building. The sunrise was just beginning to stretch over the building and towards the parking lot. He got out, paper tucked under one arm, and he heard her sob as she caught sight of him.

            “Dad!” She was in his arms in a matter of seconds, the newspaper falling to the ground as he wrapped his arms around his little girl. He wondered how she could know already…

            Soft shhh shhh’s fell from his mouth as he rocked her gently, “Betty, I’m sorry.” He murmured, kissing the top of her head.

            She sniffled, pulling back slightly so that her watery green eyes met his, “How did you know?” She asked, gently, “I just found his note. I…I hope we can still get to him-” She hiccupped as she looked hopefully up at him.

            His heart constricted as he realized she didn’t know. With lead in his stomach, he unwrapped his arms and leaned down to pick up the newspaper, “Betty, I...oh, god I’m sorry.”

            Betty was immediately riveted on the bold headline, her head shaking before she even truly comprehended what was written there. “No.” She said, firmly, her mind already back pedaling. She refused to believe it. Jughead Jones couldn’t be…she couldn’t even think the word even as she read and re-read the headline.

            **_THE CLEANER BACK IN RIVERDALE LEAVES ONE DEAD AT MOTEL SHOOTING_**

            “Betty, the FBI were on the scene. It was confirmed. He’s…he’s dead, honey.” Her father’s voice was subdued and patient, like he was explaining things to a five-year-old Betty instead of the twenty-one-year-old woman she was.

            She shook her head more firmly, “No, dad, this is part of the plan. He’s alive. He _has to be_.” The forcefulness of her words drove Hal back a step, her green eyes lit up with fire as she reached in her pocket for her phone. She dialed the last phone call she received and kicked the pavement in irritation as she got Kevin’s voicemail once again. “Kev, call me back. I need Joaquin’s number.” Her words were clipped with irritation, anxiety humming along the edges of her soul. She felt, quite suddenly, as if she were drowning, the sands of time in an hourglass falling, accumulating over her head and choking her.

            For a moment, they stood there in silence as she grappled with the suffocation and trying her best to ignore her father’s pitying stare. Taking a long, deep breath, she stretched her fingers out and away from her palms, somehow managing to push back the awful feeling as she focused on Jughead and what to do next. Where to go, who to see…she sighed, not meeting her father’s eyes as she told him, “I gotta go.”

            “Betty,” Hal began, his tone taking on that soft, chiding note that he used throughout her childhood, mainly when he was fighting with a raging Alice, “Maybe you shouldn’t be driving or out there alone with the Cleaner on the loose…”

            She was already walking away from him, though, her feet carrying her to her old Buick, keys in hand. Her gut flipped with nerves and she felt that whatever was written in that article was just… _wrong_.

            _Jughead had to be alive._

            Racing across town, she continued to pull in deep breaths, forcefully willing away the mental imagery of being stuck in an hourglass, her mind even going so far as to bring up the scene with Jasmine contained in one from _Aladdin_. She did laugh at that one, aware it sounded half crazy but not caring as she pressed the gas pedal harder, her RPM’s climbing as she sped through the just-awakening streets of Riverdale.

            It felt so much better to laugh at weird thoughts and deny what her father had told her than face what might be the truth.

            _Jughead was dead._

            No, she’d spent too many weeks protecting him, doing everything in her power to ensure his survival, only to have him just walk away and die on her. Betty hit the steering wheel in frustration as she was forced to stop at the red light right near the Whyte Wyrm, her eyes scanning the row of bikes out front for FP’s.

            It was there, front and center, but her heart plummeted to her stomach when she caught sight of the unmarked black sedan, the same car that the FBI agents arrived in the night before, parked in the back lot as she pulled in.

            She wasn’t sure she could hold onto the denial of his death if it came from the mouth of a federal agent, so Betty hung back by the Buick, waiting for nearly twenty minutes until, finally, one agent came out of the building. It was the woman, rings under her pretty, dark eyes, her black hair swept up in a messy bun. Her mouth was set in a deep frown, wearing what Veronica always called ‘Resting Bitch Face’.

            The woman, probably seven or so years older than Betty, nodded at her as she passed by, not saying a word as she got into her car and left.

            Slowly, Betty crossed the parking lot, each step careful and calculated. The fear of facing FP, of hearing exactly why the Agent was here, of admitting to him that she didn’t know if Jughead actually made it out alive…Betty could already feel the tears building in her eyes as she reached for the front door.

            Just inside, in the long hallway, FP paced. He stopped the second the door opened and his whiskey brown eyes, already threatening his own tears, fell on Betty. For a moment they stared at each other, the sound of the door closing behind them not even breaking the spell as they both searched each other’s face for the truth. 

            It was a truth that seemed more like fiction, though the evidence presented to both of them was damning. Still, there was a bit of hope in FP's expression and it was his faith in her that all but broke her heart even more. His unshed tears were answer enough for why the FBI Agent was there and it was enough to kill Betty's own hope. 

            Finally, FP Jones swallowed, his adam’s apple bobbing before he cleared his throat and broke the silence with a soft, hesitant question, “Betty, please tell me this is part of your plan?”

            She choked on her words, her only way to communicate it wasn’t was by shaking her head, gaze falling to the floor as she felt defeat crawl into her body and settle like a plague. Her shoulders dropped as the tears began to fall, sobs climbing her throat and all but strangling her as she covered her face and fell to her knees on the cement floor of the Serpent headquarters. 

            It felt like her entire soul had shattered as reality sucker punched her in the stomach. The sounds of the bar beyond the hallway quieting as a gut-wrenching sob forced it's way out of her throat. 

            And then FP’s arms were around her and she tucked her face into his neck as they mourned together, felt his silent tears as they dripped off his chin and mingled with her own. Neither one of them spoke or tried to comfort each other with words that wouldn’t really help. It felt so much like the end of everything that no words could ever be enough.

            Betty’s sobs subsided after awhile and FP dropped his arms slowly, offering a hand to help her stand and then turned away as he cleared the tear tracks away with his hand. He cleared his throat as he turned back to her, “Let me drive you home.” He gestured towards the door and she nodded silently, allowing him to lead the way.

* * *

            Carlos hung up the old payphone across from the Whyte Wyrm, probably the only one left in the entire country, and sighed as he looked across the street at the familiar Buick. It felt strange…surreal, that all of this was about to be behind him. Despite the unexpected turns, everything was falling into place; the package was on its way to Blossom, the money soon to be transferred, his debt paid, and his own revenge soon to be meted out.

            All before the birth of his son.

            He just had to rely on two people to do the jobs he gave them. As much as he hated to rely on others, he had no choice. His hands were tied.

            All he could do now was lay low.

            And where better than with Jughead’s girlfriend? He chuckled to himself as he crossed the street and climbed into the soft backseat of the Buick, half-disappointed to find no plate of tasty donuts inside.

            It was close to fifteen minutes before the front door of the bar opened and he could have laughed at his luck as FP came out, the blonde waitress right behind him, both sporting red-rimmed eyes and tear tracks.

            He reached for his gun, knowing they probably wouldn’t greet him too kindly, and plastered a pleasant smile on his face as FP opened the passenger side door for Betty. She got in as she thanked him, freezing once she realized someone else was in the car but having no way to warn FP before he climbed into the driver’s seat. The tint on the back windows and their emotional morning working to hide Carlos until the very moment it was almost too late to do anything about it.

            “Hey, FP, long time no see.” Carlos drawled casually, “Let’s go for a drive.” He pressed the barrel of the gun against Betty’s temple, to incentivize the man in the driver’s seat, and ignored the stab of regret as she tensed in fear.

            They met gazes in the rearview mirror, blue eyes meeting brown, and FP cocked an eyebrow, “Where to?” He asked as he started the car.

            Carlos looked out of the windshield thoughtfully before pulling the gun from Betty’s temple and relaxing back into the seat, his forearm resting on his left leg as FP backed up and then pulled up to the parking lot exit, stopping as he waited for direction. “Thornhill. The ol’ Blossom Barn.” The bitterness in his voice was obvious to all of them, even to Betty Cooper.

            Betty turned in her seat, the fire re-lit in her green eyes now that the threat of the gun was taken from her temple, “Take him to the police, FP.” She growled, narrowing her eyes on him.

            He couldn’t stop the smile at her bravery, “Why, Betty? Because I allegedly killed Jughead?”

            Her face twisted at his words, the grief mingling with anger before she registered his question and suspicion replaced it. She straightened in her seat, “Allegedly?” The words were colored with a myriad of emotions, but at its core was the most heartbreaking of them all.

            Hope.

            Carlos hardened his expression, ignoring her query until they passed Thornhill, blackened from the fire that ravaged the house only a few days after Clifford went to jail, and the barn came into view. A phantom pain tingled around his neck, the memory of that night never far from his mind. He still woke in a cold sweat from the nightmares of that night, especially when he was away from Sophie. As FP stopped the car in front of it, Carlos sighed, “Don’t you remember what I told you here, FP? All those years ago…”

            Once more, their gazes met in the rearview mirror and FP seemed to quote, “’I don’t know if I should damn you or thank you for saving my sorry ass. Either way, I’ll pay you back in kind.’”

            He’d been eighteen, barely, and he’d hated almost every second of his life up to that point. The monster his father created, saved from death by the man in the driver’s seat. FP had been an idiot, following him as he went to confront Clifford about his father’s death but, despite what most people believed, the rope hadn’t simply broke. No, the truth of that night that only three people were witness to was that Carlos DeSantos would have died if FP hadn’t cut the rope before it choked the life out of him.

            He looked towards the barn as he repeated, “’Either way, I’ll pay you back in kind.’” It was quiet as Carlos reached up and rubbed the scar, “I finally repaid that debt.”

            Before either passenger could ask, Carlos leaned forward, reached between the seats and beeped the horn; two quick and one long.

            The barn door opened, a blonde head sticking out, and Betty shouted, “Juggie!” as she scrambled out of the car, FP close on her heels.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> This is obviously not the end, that's just the title of the song that was used at inspiration for this chapter :D   
> I was going to end this at FP's line of "Where to?" and leave you all in suspense and on another cliffhanger but Carlos was tired of being seen as a villain.   
> Next chapter picks up right after the 4 gunshots!
> 
> Thanks for all the comments, love, and kudos!! You guys are the absolute BEST!


	18. It Comes Back to You

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> “All the things that you had lost will find their way to you.” It Comes Back to You by Imagine Dragons

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Please excuse any errors, I didn't give this my full edit time because I really wanted it up tonight! Enjoy!!

            _Since he was sixteen, he’d been living his life on edge. Glancing over his shoulder, flinching at fireworks and cars backfiring; his mind and body prepared for the moment it would be the gunshots that would end his life. The ones that would finally embed themselves in his chest. Somewhere along the way, exhausted by the constant struggle of surviving, he began to almost hope for it. A sick, twisted part of him that was ready to give up._

_That night in Pop’s, the twinkling of the bell when he’d arrived, the musical laughter that preceded him seeing Betty Cooper for the first time in five years…that night had shone on that dark part of him, given his soul a breath of fresh air, and a sudden hope for a second chance at life._

_But, tonight he’d been ready to give it all up._

_The bangs from the three gunshots Carlos sent his way didn’t make him flinch this time, but they did hit him hard; sending him backwards, his legs giving out as the bullets collided with the vest under his shirt and stole his breath just as he lost his hearing._

_The seconds or minutes of calm after the final shot reminded him of when Betty had walked towards him in the diner. Her chin raised confidently, her ponytail swinging, blonde strands tickling her neck. She’d set those green eyes of her on him, a beat up, rugged Serpent, and she’d approached him ‘like the calm in the center of a hurricane’._

_All at once, the hurricane came crashing down on him._

“ _Goddamnit_ , Carlos.” Chic’s angry voice was the first thing Jughead heard when his ears stopped ringing from the gunshots and he slowly sat up from where he’d fallen after the bullets knocked him backwards.

            Carlos hadn’t warned him it would still hurt, even if he was wearing a bullet proof vest. He reached under the vest and rubbed his chest, “Did you have to do it three times?” He groused, glaring at the Cleaner’s back as the man unhooked the hidden camera.

            The ex-hitman/Private eye shrugged, “It had to look convincing. Clifford loves the drama.”

            Chic was holding his arm, spitting curses as he tried to stem the flow of blood and he looked wildly between the two of them, “What the actual fuck are you two talking about?!”

            Jughead winced at the man’s rather high-pitched screech, clearly upset and angry that he didn’t understand what was going on and then unzipped his jacket to shrugged it off, revealing the vest and ignoring the agent as he told Carlos, “I think you love the drama, DeSantos.” He then grabbed the first aid kit from the bathroom and headed towards Chic, “Did you have to actually shoot him?” It was only a graze, really, the bullet half a centimeter to the right of the man’s arm, but it was enough to shred the fabric and the first few layers of skin.

            Carlos turned to watch, camera still in hand, and Jughead raised an eyebrow as he noted the regretful look on his face, “Unfortunately, yeah. Rhodes is a shitty actor, so we had to keep him in the dark. And now that we aren’t on camera, I’m going to need your help, Rhodes, and quickly.”

            The agent’s cursing had softened to mutters before he sighed, “It was all a set up?” He asked, finally.

            The Cleaner nodded, “I needed hard, undoubtable evidence for Clifford if I’m going to get paid for this. So, your job is to work on your lying, pal, because I need you to bag up Jughead and get him to the safe house until I get the money.” He paused, “You’re going to pin this all on me, let me get away, and then, once the money and dust settles, clear my name.”

            “How are we going to explain Jughead’s lack of blood staining the room?” Rhodes inquired, looking at the dry rug where Jughead had fallen.

            Carlos reached into his bag and brought out an alarmingly large bottle of fake blood, “You and Fuentes take over the case, don’t allow Riverdale to get any blood samples, stress that this is a federal investigation. Work your magic as a bossy FBI agent.”

            Rhodes chuckled and grimaced in pain at the same time as he muttered, “Well, if you want a bossy agent, I gotta call Fuentes for that.”

            “Sound urgent and in pain, get her here before Keller.” Was Carlos’ simple reply as he turned back to mess around with the camera.

            Jughead raised his eyebrows as Chic called his partner, panting as he told her, “Fuentes, catch a cab and come down to the Shady Palm Motel.”

            When he’d hung up, Jughead turned to look at the former Cleaner, “I think he’s a little better actor than you give him credit for.” He informed the man.

            A smile played on Carlos’ lips, “Nah, he just can’t take any amount of pain.”

            “That’s…accurate.” Chic agreed, hissing as Jughead poured hydrogen peroxide on his wound. “But, in my defense, I had a sheltered upbringing.”

            “Yeah, yeah, Rhodes, keep bragging about it to the two most fucked up men in Riverdale.” Carlos easily retorted, causing Jughead to laugh his first real laugh in probably a week.

            He was still chuckling as he bandaged up the agent and pulled the black body bag from under the bed where Carlos had told him earlier it would be, “Betty would have loved this plan.” He muttered to no one in particular, feeling a stab of guilt over not being able to tell her about it. Jughead then shook his head, “I can’t believe this isn’t a dream.”

            “That because you thought you were going to die tonight but instead you made plans with an ex-hitman to stick it to Clifford Blossom?” Carlos inquired dryly as he slid the tape into a bubble mailer with something that looked suspiciously like Jughead’s beanie.

            He narrowed his eyes on the package, but nodded all the same, “Yeah, and you asked me to trust you and… _fuck_. I did.” He didn’t add that he was also currently climbing into a body bag, which was macabre to say the least, but at least it was of his own volition and he wasn’t being stuffed in it by a coroner.

            “You had nothing left to lose by trusting me, Jones.” Was the Cleaner’s reply, though Jughead suspected they both knew that wasn’t true. He still had Betty to lose and _jesus_ , he wished he could save her the agony of hearing about his ‘death’…

            Jughead began to zip it up, pondering that last thought before stopping midway to look over at the Cleaner. Carlos DeSantos. “Carlos,” He’d never called him by name before, but it felt right now that the truth of his intentions was out there, “Can you make sure Betty and my dad know I’m alright? I can’t…bear the thought of them mourning me.”

            They’d been through so much, they didn’t deserve to be in the dark about this. But, he couldn’t upset the plan before they saw it through. If Carlos could let them know, to save them the anguish, then he’d be satisfied with that. He felt a profound relief roll through him as the Cleaner met his gaze and nodded seriously, “And while I’m at it, I’ll pick you up some black hair dye. We need to do something about all that blonde.”

            The following hours were the longest of his life as he laid in the dark of the body bag, listening as Carlos directed Chic where to take him before leaving and then the ensuing chaos as Fuentes got there. Rhodes only had a small amount of time to fill her in on the bare skeletons of the plan before Keller showed up. It was a testament to how much Lucy trusted her partner that she absorbed it and didn’t bat an eye, simply taking on the mantle of Bossy Agent in order to assist him with the phony investigation.

            While the bag was hot and just a touch suffocating, somewhere amidst Rhodes’ mutterings as he tried to ‘investigate’ the crime scene he’d created and Fuentes’ conversation with Keller that he could just hear through the window (a continual rejection of help from the local police), Jughead found himself nodding off. He woke briefly as he was jostled, assuming he was being loaded up, and then he was lulled back to sleep as the motion of the vehicle smoothed away his anxieties.

            It was the first time since leaving Betty that he felt safe enough to nod off.            

            Because he hadn’t actually believed Carlos totally when he’d got to that hotel room and the Cleaner had cocked a dark eyebrow at him, his face so like Joaquin’s it was almost jarring.

            “You really came here to die, Jughead?” He’d asked, dark blue eyes unfathomable in the dim lighting of the hotel room.

            Jughead shrugged recklessly, as if he hadn’t just walked into the room he was certain to die in, “You came to Riverdale to kill me, why not get it over with.” Was his best reply.

            And then Carlos DeSantos turned his back on him, rummaged around in a black duffle bag, and pulled out a video camera. It surprised Jughead so much, he almost spit out some retort about necrophilia, but he held his tongue out of sheer curiosity. The Cleaner didn’t speak until he’d straightened and began to fiddle with the electronic, “Bullet proof vest is over in that backpack. Put it on under your clothes. The body bag is under the bed and Rhodes should be here any minute. We’ll stage it all so I have a nice little film for Clifford.” He passed Jughead another one of those raised eyebrow looks at his mouth agape expression as he tried to process it all, “Well, hurry up. I muted the audio so it’ll just be visual evidence, but that should be enough. Especially once the article hits the Register, Blossom is not going to doubt your death for a second.”

            “Why?” He choked out, still standing there frozen.

            Carlos’ shoulders tensed at the question, though he had to have expected it, “Why am I not killing you?” He clarified for Jughead but didn’t wait for an answer before the words rushed out, as though he’d never expected to confess the real reason to him, “Because a long time ago, your father saved my life and I don’t like unpaid debts. Now, put on the vest.”

            Absorbing that revelation and moving quickly, half-worried Carlos might change his mind, Jughead followed orders.

            Then, leaning against that far wall, Jughead got his first real look at Agent Rhodes and the man didn’t seem very significant to the plot until Carlos revealed…Charles ‘Chic’ Rhodes was Betty’s long-lost brother.

            It was almost laughable to see the real Chic Cooper in the flesh, the very man he’d tried to personify since Betty had come up with her crazy hair-dying plan, and he realized then and there that he’d never even come close to matching the agent.

            Because Chic was All-American Cooper to the marrow of his bones. Jughead picked up on the not-so-subtle similarities between this man and the love of his life quickly and it was slightly unsettling. The way they quirked their blonde eyebrow sardonically, the color of their eyes; that same shade of retro-style glass bottle green, and the high cheek bones that gave them both a classic kind of beauty.

            Even though Jughead knew it was all staged, he’d still felt a touch protective of Betty’s kin. He didn’t like the gun aimed at the man, despite knowing that the FBI agent was probably packing his own firearm.

            “Still alive, Jones?” Chic’s shout heralded the cold light of day as he unzipped the body bag, bringing Jughead from his introspection.

            “Barely.” He grumbled, sitting up and massaging his chest, “Definitely bruised.”

            Chic grinned, a charming, crooked one that he was sure got him all the ladies in high school, “That’s all that matters.”

            His optimism matched Betty’s to a tee and it simultaneously annoyed Jughead and brought a pinch of affection for him as he climbed out of a van. He assumed somewhere in the argument with the local police about the crime scene, Agent Fuentes had insisted upon borrowing the coroner’s vehicle. Her stoic features and harsh personality left no room for push-back or questions as to why they were conducting their investigation without assistance from forensics or medical examiners. They’d loaded Jughead up and Chic had gone on his way, trusting his partner to oversee the clean-up.

            “ _This_ is DeSantos’ safe house?” The question tumbled out the moment he had his bearings collected, his gaze following the faded, red wood boards all the way up to the apogee of the barn looming over them. The barn, he assumed, that Clifford attempted to hang the Cleaner in.

            “DeSantos is a fucked up sonovabitch.” Chic chirped fondly as he shut the van doors, confirming Jughead’s assumption and seeming to forget that the man in question had shot him just a few hours before, “Let’s get you inside.”

            It was obvious as soon as they slid the door open that _someone_ was here recently. It was obviously just swept, the bristle marks of the broom drawn on the dirt-caked concrete floor. But other than the dust-covered maple syrup barrels, someone, probably Carlos, had haphazardly thrown down a gently used rug beneath a small table with two chairs, and set up a cot off to the side. “He really had this all thought out.” Jughead muttered, knowing full well the man hadn’t slept here. That this was set up for him.

            Because as fucked up as Carlos was, Jughead didn’t think even he could sleep in a barn where he’d almost died.

            “I call the cot.” Chic was already headed for it, his tall form stretching out on it before the words were even all out of his mouth, “Mmm, not as nice as my bed at the Five Seasons.”

            Jughead bit back the first comment that came to mind and then decided to say it anyway, “Definitely not as nice as Betty’s bed.”

            The gasp that left Chic’s mouth was loud in the quiet of the barn and the look on his face as he sat up to look at Jughead was so exaggeratedly offended, he felt a bubble of laughter escape from his mouth as the slightly older guy replied, “That’s my _sister_!”

            And then Jughead’s small bubble of mirth turned into a loud, crazy-relieved-sleep-deprived guffaw as his brain caught up to the epiphany that now, he might truly make it out of this mess alive. That he might be able to take Betty on that date after all. Maybe write a book or go to college. Maybe leave Riverdale behind entirely.

            He was suddenly given a world of possibilities and it was all thanks to the boogeyman of his childhood.

            “Okay, now you just sound like the Joker from Arkham Asylum.” Chic’s dry comment only made Jughead laugh harder until he was wheezing from lack of oxygen, his ribs aching-and not from the bruising they’d gotten on multiple occasions.

            Wiping the tears that had escaped, unsure of the real reason for them, he sobered up and took a seat in one of the chairs, “Sorry, I just…” He’d always wanted to be a writer, but the words failed him as he searched for some explanation.

            But, Chic was waving a hand from his spot on the cot, catching his eye and Jughead turned to see the blonde wearing that empathetic look he’d seen so often on Betty’s the last few weeks. That deep, soulful gaze that held an otherworldly understanding of things that neither Cooper should know at their age. How they both developed that look without knowing each other was a mystery to him.

            “Jughead, you don’t need to explain anything to me. I can’t even fathom what you’ve been through the last five years and honestly, I don’t ever expect to. Your commitment to survive, after every one of the men he sent after you,” Chic paused, looking thoughtful, as though he knew much more about Jughead’s life than he admitted, “well, that does something to a person. And I’m not going to sit here and tell you everything’s going to be alright because I don’t like bullshitting people. But, you gotta lot of processing to do in the next few months or years. Talk to someone, maybe a few someones, or talk to a professional. Work through the learned behaviors, the nightmares, whatever. Don’t bottle it up, that’s the worst thing you could do.”

            “Thanks, Agent Rhodes. For everything.” Jughead murmured, too humbled by the man’s sincere advice to think of anything else to say. Exhaustion was settling in his bones and his eyes began to grow heavy, making him mentally calculate the hours since he’d slept. Was it less than twenty-four? It felt like days.

            “I’ll help you anyway I can, Jug.” Chic murmured and then, before Jug even realized it, he was standing beside him, “Go catch some Z’s on the cot, I’ll keep a look out.”

            As if those last five words were a spell, Jughead succumbed to sleep.

            He slept, though even with Chic’s promise to keep a look out he still hovered on the edge of consciousness. It was his least favorite way to sleep, but it was the only way he survived so long. It was a good thing he did, too, because he heard the crunch of tires on gravel well before Chic did.

            Rising from the cot and rubbing his eyes, he ignored the halt of Chic’s humming and his curious gaze as he crossed to peak out the front barn door.

            Blue Buick. Betty’s car. But, the person driving had short dark hair…

            “Juggie!” Her car door was thrown open and she didn’t even bother to shut it, too eager to run headlong towards him. Her eyes were more a watercolor shade of green, perhaps because of the tears that showed their evidence by the red rims and stain tracks down her cheeks. His heart broke at the thought of her crying over him.

            “Betty.” The words came out like a prayer, soft and reverent, just as she entered the circle of his arms. He folded her gingerly into his arms, grip slowly becoming tighter as pressed all of her weight into him, and then he was supporting her and she was crying again.

            “Boy, you really had us scared.” A familiar voice pulled his face from her soft blonde hair and he met his father’s eyes, the same deep brown at the bottom of a bourbon bottle, and the relief there was enough to choke up Jughead.

            Leaning against the car, just beyond FP’s right shoulder, was Carlos DeSantos. He was gazing up at the barn, but his gaze fell as he felt Jughead’s eyes on him. A small smile turned up the corner of his mouth and he winked.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> This chapter did not want to end! I probably could have kept going but I need to get to bed and I really wanted this up tonight.   
> This isn't the end! We still have to wrap up Clifford, see an angry pregnant woman, get a glimpse into how long exactly Chic and Carlos have known each other and then give this story a good epilogue! I'm *hoping* to finish this before Season 3 starts but since my updating is so inconsistent...  
> Anyway, for peeps that aren't following me on tumblr, I'm sorry for the long wait. I got me a big girl job and it's full time AND I'm training the woman replacing me at my old job. Not to mention my boyfriend's home so all my extra time is spent with him cuz he travels a lot for his job and we don't get nearly enough quality time!  
> THANK YOU ALL SO MUCH FOR THE COMMENTS AND KUDOS AND FOR JUST CONTINUING TO READ! I'm so thankful and I'm sorry I've been lazy at replying. I promise I read and re-read your comments and smile like a dork at work!! You're all the best!


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